To Trust a Thief
by Sultar
Summary: She didn't want this. Why should she care about the fate of an already dying race? Why should she subject herself to the suspicious glares of those too pure beings? She was a thief, not a hero. Her life was her own. Slight AU
1. Darkened Night

Disclaimer: I don't own Bree, the elves, Middle Earth. . . a lot, really. But I DO own Tera! She's mine! And so is her horse. And the rubies are mine as well! But anyhow, read and _ppllleeeeaaassee_, I'm _begging_ you, review!

(Ya, um, changing it around a bit. I don't think there _are_ hobbits living in Bree anyway

. . . oops. . .)

It was dark that night. The storm crashed down on the little village of Bree, swallowing road and pavement alike in its wrath. It raged on, tearing at the wood and brick of the many roofs, driving men and women and children to flee for their homes, flee from the thunder and lightning and torrent rains. And the streets were empty, waist-high in water and rising, rendering anyone so foolish as to dare to challenge the storm a battered, unconscious, and possibly drowned rag doll.

Except Tera didn't cross by road. In fact, she very seldom did.

Balanced lightly the heavily sleeted roof's edge, she scanned the windows-the roads held no threat- of the opposite house. Very few ever worked in rain this heavy, for squelching boots and sodden trails made hiding all too deadly. But rain was Tera's ally, and working with it her specialty. And besides, she very seldom robbed houses.

There was no one, the room beyond unlit by any candle flame. She gave a little half-smile, feeling the familiar surge of power as her muscles coiled, then released, launching her to the roof of the house.

The rain would drag her down, and she knew it. She instinctively added more power to the leap, landing in a crouch at the edge of the slippery bricks. Tera swung down, locking her legs around the balcony fence before swinging herself upside down to grab onto something lower. It was in this was that she made her way down to a fighter's crouch just seven feet above the door.

She waited.

Patience was key to her success. And it was something she had trained herself in for an infinity of time. It was easier to her than to most, for in spite of her temper, her spirit was that of a panther's, filled with a deadly patience, and a swift, silent death.

And that was who she was, she thought with another quirk of her lips.

Swift, and silent, a bringer of death.

A gust of warm air preceded the faint sound of wood against wood in warning her of the opening door. She tensed automatically, reveling in the surge of adrenaline and power coursing through her. She was a hunter. She was supremacy and strength, stealth and silence. And to this man, her prey, she was death.

The man. Rakish of the merchant's guild. Short and thin, or at least thin for a hobbit, with a weedy face and a dark goatee. A little perpetual sneer pasted on his face.

Yes, that was him. And he fit the description beautifully.

Tera allowed herself a small grin, a predatory raising of harsh lips over clenched teeth. She crept closer.

_He's got no wife or child- none would want him when he's screaming and stomping around. Kill him whichever way you want. I don't care. He's opposed me far too long. And bring me the key to his laboratory. I will send my men to free those animals later._

Tera cared not for the man's –Rakish's- attitude; he was soon to be gone, and so she would never find out. Ironically, it was Rakish who had offered her a job to assassinate the one now hiring her, and for a similar reason: the animals. He'd wanted her to. . . halt. . . the attempts to close his laboratory from animal testing. They were his animals, were they not? It didn't matter if he destroyed ten or a hundred. He'd paid, and he had the right.

Of course, that hadn't sat extremely well with Tera. And _that_ was ironic, that one so careless with the lives of her own kind be so opposed to the destruction of 'lesser beings'. So when Thaire had offered her money to eliminate Rakish, even though the pay was by far less, there was no hesitation on Tera's part.

So.

She slowly, softly, withdrew her blade. She could still remember the first time she'd set eyes upon it. She could still remember the frail woman with a heart Tera didn't deserve, willing to give her anything to see vengeance made for her dead son, master of both weaponry and armor. Tera had taken, of course, the best.

_"This blade is of midnight and darkness, sprinkled with moonlight and stardust. It is magic, made by my Reafe and granted the power of the shadows by one far from here. As are the armor and the rapiers. Take them. I have no use for them. I never want to see them again."_

She had never asked who the 'one far from here' was, but from then on, the night had been her ally, and the darkness her friend. The blades and armor would not let her be seen easily. Even as she hid the ebony armor, intricately crafted with millions of millimeter long links, absorbed, matched, and radiated darkness. Even by her sharp eyes –cat's eyes, her brother used to call them- the withdrawn blade could not be seen.

Rakish stalked away from the door. One step, two steps, then his back was turned to his predator. Turned to the silently coiling shadow behind him.

Tera waited, just a hairsbreadth of a moment, before diving down from her perch. She pounced, felt the rush of wind and surge of power, felt, rather than heard, the excited hum of her withdrawn dagger.

The little man never stood a chance.

Two feet planted themselves on his back, enough to land a man, and certainly a little one like this. He fell without a cry. A blade across his throat silenced him for life.

And then it was over.

Tera paused, taking a moment to savor the rush of the hunt. The headiness that had accompanied a kill was, although addictive, very dangerous, and so soon gotten rid of. No. She would keep her wits around her.

Swiftly, she crouched beside the now-dead man. His purse was hung around his neck, underneath ornately decorated clothing. Tera didn't hesitate in cutting both string and cloth. Gold, silver, the laboratory key, and oh my. . .

Rubies. Two darkly flaming gemstones gleamed at her, and she felt larceny tug at her heart. Oh, she knew the value of gold, especially as much as there was here, but the fire-stones danced their color in the dim light carried from the house. They were beautiful. Oh wow, they were beautiful.

But the light from the house reminded Tera of the precarious situation she was in. She deftly pocketed the purse, and, with a second's thought, snatched the other, the one shown to the public eye, hanging from his belt. It was maybe not as heavy as the first, but heavy still enough to talk of a small fortune. She leaped up the rafters again, ready to launch herself back into the rain, and then settled back to think.

She looked longingly at the house. Oh, she never was a house robber, and she was soaked from the rain, but. . .

Maybe there were more gemstones.

Oh, Tera knew it was foolish, risky even, but gemstones always held a weakened passage to her heart. Not to sell, oh no, never, but seeing them gleam and glimmer in all arrays of color never failed to strike a chord in Tera's heart. Rubies and diamonds mixed, unbiased, with sapphires and amethysts. As long as they were beautiful they were cherished.

Damn it, she swore to herself as her discipline crumbled, he's dead, anyway. He's not going to need anything more.

She kept her boots- they were waterproof, anyway, and only needed a quick wipe on the doormat, but discarded her soaking cloak. Her hair was damp, even from under the hood, but not wet enough to drip. And if her breeches were drenched, that hardly mattered. Water would accumulate in her boots, if anything, and it mattered now if she gave a soft, squelching sound; the one who would catch her, if any, was quite, decidedly, dead.

Striding into the house, she quickly unlit all the candles. She would had no one wonder why the dark shadow of Rakish and suddenly molded into someone else's. Tera hurriedly rummaged through drawers, knowing with a thief's certainty where to check, and where not to.

She did not regret that visit.

It was not often that Tera had to snap herself out of a state of greed.

The gold she ignored; she had quite enough to live comfortably, successful as she was. But the gems. . .

There were very many gems.

Diamonds, emeralds, fire opals, crystals in myriads of color. Tera filled pouches, pockets, and purses, and then carried the rest of her pick (which was enough to lay heavy in her arms), to empty into her cloak. A real smile, something almost human, rather than purely feline huntress, appeared for an instant on her lips.

And it was then that she saw the elf.


	2. Escape to Nightfall

Author's note: I just realized no one really is gonna know what's going on. Basically, this is set before the Fellowship of the Ring, when Sauron isn't yet considered such a superpower. Think of him as recovering, but still recovered enough to pester the free folk. And heh, thanks, I.H.N, but I can't give up on this now. I like it too much. I'll try out a few more chapters, and then decide.

Even as her heart froze her body launched herself away from sight. She sidled up the rafters, only to pause, as the elf swung his head around, some twelve feet above the ground.

Bree received many, many visitors, mostly from those passing through. It was the one trace of civilization in the wilderness, and it was not unknown for even elves to pass through, on their way to Rivendell and back. Tera even, through word of mouth and hooded glimpses, knew this one by name.

Glorfindel.

He had come, dozens of years ago, with a group of elven rangers. One of them had received a wound from an orc blade, and Rivendell was too many miles away. The most accomplished healer in Bree had been ordered to save him. He'd failed.

Tera had been told that the elf had been buried here, and the rangers had ridden away- away from Rivendell. Presumably back to the orcs. They had probably not expected to come out alive, and had desired their comrade to have, at least, a proper burial.

They had survived, however, and every so often the troop of elves would come to pay their respects, and then disappear again.

Tera swore mentally, not even daring a whisper to give herself away. Who knew how well those ears could hear.

The elleth crouched down beside the body of the hobbit, and Tera could hear faintly what she assumed was a curse. The elf glanced up, scrutinizing the darkness, searching. His eyes, Tera realized with a shiver, were those of a eagle. Sharp, and ever moving, and very, very keen.

The best of elves, against the best of humans.

Damned, but she _hated_ being the prey.

Not that, of course, she didn't know how.

Tera slowed her breathing, turning it into something less than audible. Ragged breaths would be heard, she knew, despite the onslaught of rain. Not for the first time, she gave silent thanks to the weather. She was of rain and darkness. He was of light. Over here, she was in her throne, her kingdom, her realm. And he was, hopefully, far, far out of his depth.

Well, she was right about the former, and maybe not so much about the latter, but even the elf could not match an assassin such as she, in her conditions, in her darkness.

Glorfindel glided to his feet, brow furrowed in a way that Tera was sure he'd never show in public- why, it even made him look less than perfect, and took one last, cursory glance before striding off into the downpour.

Tera closed her eyes in relief for a moment, before tucking her cloak safely under her arm and heading off. Too risky to stay here for very long; the elf would probably alert the Bree watchers of the dead hobbit. She leaped back into the night's sky, darkness veiling her already lithe figure.

Her home, first, to drop off the gemstones; she would risk no questions asked. It would only take a few moments. Once safely hidden, and freshly clothed, she would head out again.

A quick change into another set of black- indeed about the only color in her meager wardrobe, saw her heading out the window yet again, heading for the Prancing Pony.

It was warm there. A fire blazed merrily from inside the windows, and if the villagers were holed in until the rain had stopped, well, that made all the more reason for a drink or two.

Tera latched onto the rafters, then let herself drop softly to the ground. Rain immediately lapped at her calves, but she welcomed rather than ignored the intrusion. She slid through the open crack in the door and kept her hood securely over her head.

None acknowledged her arrival, for she faded immediately into the background, searching, searching. . . _there_.

Thaire sat, yes good, in a corner of the room, secreted from the light of the fire. She strode towards him, her gait an epitome of economy, swift and ground covering, and very, very silent. She was Tera, the hunter, the shadow queen. And today, she was the triumphant.

She offered Thaire a little, predatory not-quite-a-smile, nodding in a fashion just far enough to acknowledge, and just short of respect. Reaching into her pouch, she closed long fingers around the laboratory key, tossing it carelessly onto the table.

"He's dead."

Thaire gave a nod, risked a grin. A nimble hand slid across the table and claimed the key as his.

"So I see. And you did not hesitate to take as you wish."

His accent was clear, cultured. Very different from Tera's dark, husky, exotic 'cat-speech'.

"I'm a thief," she tilted her head and gave an almost challenging, definitely amused quirk of the lips.

"Of course, lady," he replied. He'd live with it. Her job was done, his opponent dead, and her skill proven, "Admirable elimination. You truly are skilled in your. . . line of work."

"I truly am skilled at killing people, you mean," and now the voice mixed with a husky, part laugh and part condescension. Oh, she knew it was only courtesy that led him to call her 'lady'. She _knew_ what she was called: Lady Death, Shadow Dancer, and she knew very well that if she weren't there, those were the terms Thaire would have used. "It was a pleasure working for you. And now, my pay, if you please."

"Of course, of course." Thaire pushed the purse of gold across the table. "But before you go, there is another job for you."

Tera tensed instinctively.

Oh, don't say that. . .

A quick glance around confirmed her fear.

Shit, shit, shit, she cursed, muscles coiled and ready to leap. The hooded figures approached, seemingly casually but quickly all the same. She needn't look beneath the hood to know who they were.

It was brightly lit and warm, a far cry from her rain and darkness.

Damn.

"Lady, they don't want to take you prisoner. Listen to me, they're offering you a job. A high paying job. Believe me, they promised. . ." Thaire babbled hurried, unheard explanations in an attempt to keep Tera from running.

It didn't work.

Glorfindel, at least, saw the danger before the others, and abandoned all pretense to shoulder his way hurriedly to her.

Too late.

She sprung up from the table, grasping the rafters above before springing up further. Landing in a crouch on the dusty wood, she sprinted across amidst surprised shouts and pointed fingers. With any luck, the chaos would distract the elves for long enough for Tera to get to the door. . .

No such luck.

With a single word of command, three elleths sprang between her and the door. And they didn't even use the table to boost themselves up.

Damn it!

Tera glanced behind to see that she hadn't much time. Gritting her teeth, she launched herself higher to grip onto a higher rafter.

Please let this work, she prayed as her legs swung forwards in full force. . .

Right into the window.

Glass splintered, cracked, and broke, and Tera felt herself hurl through the window, desperately shielding her face from the shards of grass. She grabbed desperately for a handhold as she fell, finally finding purchase in a hole in the bar's perimeter wall.

Then she hoisted herself up, blood trickling from a dozen cuts and scratches, and sprinted out into the rain, and the darkness of her realm.


	3. Face to Face

Tera swore to herself as she stormed into her room via the never-locked window. _Damn _Thaire! And damn those elves. She was enraged beyond any reasonable extent. How _dare_ they? Who did they think they were?

But most of all, she raged at herself.

How could she not have double-checked the bar? It was a fool's mistake, and she had ceased to be a fool long ago. Hooded figures with finely made cloaks _were _conspicuous, and Tera had eyes honed from constant darkness. Was she so distracted by the triumph of a job well done?

No, she knew as she snatched dry clothes from her wardrobe, ignoring the quickly stopping bleeding of her arms and legs, she had ceased being distracted by such a thing as that as well. She had absolutely no excuse for this lapse of attention.

Tera snarled as she strode into the bathing room, barely giving the luxury of her home a second's glance.

Her home was not one of an assassin's, nor one of a thief's. In fact, upon seeing her house, there were few who could be brought to believe she was either. In truth, she had no more need for money, and indeed had enough to live in extravagance for the rest of her life.

But what fun was that? Tera was not a thief out of necessity. She was a thief out of want. And so in many ways, she was a worst type of rogue.

It wasn't that she had no morals, she thought as she poured steaming water into an oaken tub, it was that her morals were, to put mildly, a little out of sorts. Murdering men in cold blood to save animals? Rejecting gold and harboring gemstones? What did that make her.

Something, she thought with a grim little smile, she did _not_ want to know.

Tera stared at the steam rising from the tub after she'd lowered herself in, wondering at the recent events. Even though she had left in a hurry, Thaire's words had not gone unheeded.

_". . . they're offering you a job. A high paying job."_

Elves? Wanting to hire an assassin? Now _that_ was interesting. What for? Not for one of their own, certainly; no more tales of their goodness were needed to convince Tera against that idea.

And elves didn't bother themselves with the lives of humans, or, if there still were any, dwarves. Which made the only other option. . .

Orcs? Goblins?

Oh, Tera had no fear of any man or elf, and would not hesitate to assassinate either. But she'd never seen an orc or, for that matter, a goblin. . .

That would be interesting, she though, sliding tongue absentmindedly over teeth, that would be _very_ interesting.

A second thought came, unbidden.

Would orcs horde jewels?

Tera snorted down laughter as she shook her head into her hand. Oh gods, she was hopeless.

And she was actually considering this job.

Enough. She shook her head. Her main priority right now was to get clean. Get clean and dry and dressed before the water cooled and her stomach started complaining.

And maybe, just maybe, find the concern to do something about her cuts. Then again, she didn't usually do anything about 'just a cut'.

Tera strode out of the bathing room some fifteen minutes later, dressed a dry set of clothing, hair damp and knotted at the nape of her neck, the cuts, even if not dressed, clean and washed. Her blade, as always, hung from a scabbard tide loosely to her waist. She just had to drop by her room to snatch her purse before. . .

What?

She leaped onto the table even as her head swiveled round, blade drawn and ready, heart hammering in her throat. How had anyone known where she lived?

Her brain took a while longer to work, and it was only when Tera took her fighter's crouch when she recognized the intruder.

How the _hell_ did an elf get here?

Tera swore inwardly, and very vehemently at that. There were few people who knew where she lived. If she learned that _any_ of them had given that secret away. . .

"Thaire was extremely lax with his information. He had, in his own words, 'done his research'. I assume he means your home, and your friends, and very possibly your family."

"Then I'd hate to disappoint him, being that I have no friend nor family," she snarled, blade still drawn and ready, glaring at the elleth lounging on _her _couch with a probably feigned casualness. Seemingly relaxed, but nonetheless, she warned herself, very, very dangerous.

The elf gave a nod, before freezing. Tera saw his gaze lock to her blade and tightened her grip over it. When he spoke his voice was chilling and cold, and far cry from his former musical tone.

"And what are you doing with a blade by the dark elves?"

Tera stared at her weapon, surprised. She'd known, of course, that there was magic infused into her arms, but of the elves?

"My blade is mine by right. I can assure you that I have never killed any of your kindred before."

Glorfindel inclined his head towards her, hands outstretched and turned upwards.

"And I assure you, I have no weapon with me. You can put down your dagger; by my word you will come to no harm."

Tera gave an obviously false smile.

"If it's all the same to you, I'll keep it out," she replied, voice kept low and smooth.

With assassin trained eyes, she noted the slight hesitation as the elf tried to find a reply to this. Good, she thought, keep him off balance. See what he wants, but on your own terms.

"So, what brings you here uninvited?" she allowed a deeper hiss to enter her words.

"You, ah, _departed_ before any words could be exchanged, I fear, so I decided that it would be more. . . _comfortable_ for you in a familiar place."

"To put mildly," she muttered, feeling the corners of her lips quirk upwards, and quickly hiding them with a scowl.

"So talk. And quickly," she snapped, "and then, if you please, get out."

Glordindel seemed quite taken aback by her rudeness, but hid his reaction quickly and, she hated to admit, with a smoothness she could envy.

"So. Shall we be blunt? I want someone dead, and you can do it."

Ha, she thought, somewhat surprised with his words. An elf, being blunt. Who would have thought? Nevertheless, her reply was as dark and amused as she would have wished.

"So I gathered. Now, tell me, who? The orc, or the goblin."

Now she'd caught him off guard.

"The orc," he replied without thinking, before pausing as if thinking over what he had just said. Then he gave a true, albeit reluctant, laugh.

"Enough, lady. I concede defeat. Now, if you would please, _stop_ with these word games. We have much to discuss, and, if you do intend to throw me out, very little time."

Tera fought in vain to stop a small grin from appearing.

"Very well, elf-"

"-Glorfindel"

"Glorfindel," she corrected, "you would have me kill –assassinate –an orc, presumably a leader of the clan I've heard so much about, so the orcs will disperse, making it easy for your people to pick them off in your leisure."

"You impress me, lady, but it is not a clan we speak of. It is an army, unnaturally well coordinated, sent, we believe, by Sauron himself.

"Then one we would have you assassinate is, yes, their leader. But he carries a pendant around his neck, potent with magic. We believe that it is through this pendant that he has such control over his troops, for we have thus far seen no fight occur between them, and this is in itself highly unusual. The orcs themselves have no taste for blood, and indeed wander as if in a daze."

"And you think that if the pendant is shattered, the orcs will be released form this spell, and probably be stunned and so be easy to kill. Interesting," she said, thinking it over.

"It's an interesting offer, and one I will be sure to think over," she leaped lightly back onto the floor, heading towards the window.

Even as she saw that it was locked, Glorfindel snaked towards her, locking an iron grip over both her hands. He lowered his head until his mouth brushed her ear, and his murmur could be heard by her and her alone.

"We ask only for a moment of your life, lady. You are skilled at killing men. Have you never wondered how you would fare against orcs? We offer you riches such that you cannot imagine. Will you refuse the adventure, the treasure?"

"Who are you to say if I will or will not refuse, elf?" Eyes narrowed, she snarled her reply at the elleth.

"It is Glorfindel, lady," his voice roughened with just a hint of annoyance, his grip tightening, "and yours is?"

Tera tried in vain to jerk away, her voice tight with anger to keep out held-down panic.

"_My name is my own_," she hissed with her voice a tide of warning, "_as is my life_."

In reply, the elf released her, watching her as she leaped back and raised her blade.

"Kill me if you wish, lady, but please give an answer."

Tera gave a glare of dark fury. But she couldn't stay the excitement kindled within her.

Riches, and adventure beyond her wildest dreams.

Just imagine.

And despite winning the little battle of words, Tera knew that she had lost the war.

She lowered her blade reluctantly.

"When do we leave?"


	4. My Own

Erm. . . in answer to the questions, I update fairly regularly, as in I don't take anywhere near a month. But nowhere near two, three days either. About a week, perhaps. And huh? This isn't long? . . . Really? . . . Heh, oops. Oh and yay! (to Icekube) You're still reading! I was scared I'd have to start all over again. I'm getting a lot of complaints, aren't I?. . . but I'm sure there was animal testing, maybe not for cosmetics and all that crap, but surely where there's civilization there's the need for improving and having better goods whichever way possible.

And sorry for the elleth-ellon mix up. . . I do those a lot.

>

And so here I am, on some do-goody quest, in the middle of absolutely _nowhere_, and _damn_ the sun is bright, Tera thought to herself while glaring burning holes through her horse's mane.

And yes, fine, she was whining.

And so what? It was their problem, not hers. They'd have to get used to _that,_ too; she rather liked whining. Annoyingly, and often.

It didn't help that she was the last one ready to leave, _much _too early for even a thief, nor the fact that she had literally to fight to keep her horse, instead of the too-pure gray mare they'd rummaged up for her. She _liked_ black, even if they didn't, and if her coal stallion was the ugliest beast within miles, well, she'd be damned if he weren't the fastest and by far the most intelligent.

"You're better than all these, all show and nothing to come out of it," she murmured to her Quest for War, ignoring the disapproving glances from the elves around her.

Which only served to darken her already black mood.

Still, she had Reggie, or so his pet name was, with her, and he'd never yet failed to be a comfort. This was _her _horse, and her own. Oh, she was no horse-tamer, but none else would he suffer upon his back. And he may be an ugly brute, with his almost emaciated body, lanky, bone-thin legs, and a head that could only be described as 'mean', but those yellowed, too-big jaws never once snapped at her, and those quicksilver hooves never once aimed her way.

Yes, she had to admit, she did love him.

Maybe it was his ugly face that only smiled her way. Maybe it was the fact that he tolerated all her frequent whining. Maybe it was the fact that he belonged, too, to the shadows, that he was dark and distant and excluded a chilling aura of death.

Or maybe it was the fact that he was more like her than she liked to admit; maybe it was the fact that he was an outcast.

And maybe he was the only thing she did care for, with a frightening intensity that she herself would not come to terms with. He was the only one who was hers for no other reason than to be hers, and she loved him all the more for that. And no elf was going to take him away from her.

Even though his paces _were_ less than comfortable, and by the sixth hour Tera began to feel every jolt and creak of the saddle. And the saddle had not been made for comfort, but for speed. Her legs had started to cramp in the short stirrups, and her back had ached horribly from having to stay forwards in the saddle, instead of taking a comfortable slouch.

That sixth hour had been a _long_ time ago.

"We stop here," a voice broke into her thoughts. She glanced up quickly, more than half embarrassed at being caught off guard.

"Of course," she replied to Glorfindel, ignoring a helping hand to leap nimbly off her very-tall horse herself. It was a long way to the ground for her sore self, and her five-foot frame looked half the size of her eighteen-three hand horse, but she was a thief, and an assassin, and if she could land safely from a rood or rafter, a little bit of stiffness couldn't stop her from doing so from a horse.

"For how long?" she questioned diffidently, ignoring the discomfort invoked by hours on horseback.

"Long enough for you to stretch out," came the reply, which immediately had her head tossed and eyes flaming.

She hadn't been any kind of burden for as long as she could remember, and she most certainly wasn't going to be one now. Not now, not ever. She didn't want to be seen by those elves as anything other than more capable than they.

"I can assure you that _will not be necessary_," she hissed, ignoring the biting stiffness in her legs.

Glorfindel noticed at once, mentally berated himself, and rummaged quickly through his mind for something, _anything_, to prevent an explosion.

Tera noticed, and hid a small, snarling, smile. So the elves had already learned to tread carefully around her. Good. That would be useful, and at least she knew she had their fear, if not their respect. Fear of what she would do was fine for now; it was better than she be thought of as little better than thief scum.

"Believe me, lady, it is not only for you," he amended hastily, and Tera could tell immediately that he was trying to conjure up a valid excuse, "some of us are travel-weary ourselves. Surely you won't mind being used as an excuse."

"You lie horribly, elf," she, well, not _quite_ snarled.

"On the contrary, I do believe I. . . speak _untruths_ very well, lady, provided you give me time to make them up," he replied.

That was the time when she was _supposed_ to give her little, raging speech! How _dare_ he spoil her tantrum!

She opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again. Glorfindel waited. And waited. And then, taking advantage of her lack of words, offered her his arm.

She took it without thinking, then snatched her hand back again.

"That was _my_ tantrum you disrupted!" She didn't quite know whether to shout or snarl, and the result was an ineffective in-between.

Glorfindel shrugged, eyes twinkling in amusement.

"It was? I apologize, lady, if I had known, I would have. . . done the same thing," and now the laughter in his voice, enough to amuse and not to irk, was clear.

The un-irking tone still managed to raise her hackles up, however, and the fact that she very stupidly could not think of much else to say had her quite appalled.

"And now I think I shall to the wise thing, and keep my mouth shut an try to salvage this situation," she muttered, incensed but trying not to seem quite so immature.

"I must admit, however," the elf lowered his voice, still amused and sounding somewhat as if discussing the weather, "that you have made quite the impression among my fellow elves. We elves are a subtle race, and they were quite taken aback when you ignored their disapproval and insisted on your horse. A disapproving glance means quite a lot, you see."

Oh, thought they were so high and superior, did they? She felt flames licking the edges of her temper, and forcibly fanned them off.

"Well," Tera bit out, "I'm glaring daggers at them, and they aren't exactly killing themselves for me, now, are they?"

To her surprise, and to her irritation, Glorfindel let out a laugh, musical and low, the complete epitome of the word 'laugh'.

Had she ever mentioned that she hated perfection?

"Well said, lady," he chuckled, amused, "but be sure to keep that comment to yourself, else offend them greatly."

I say what I want, when I want, she thought with narrowed eyes, but nodded curtly.

"Of course. The last thing I want to do is offend them," she said, her tone very obviously sardonic.

She received a raised brow in reply, and a little smile, before Glorfindel went to rejoin his kin.

Shaking her head, she gathered the reins over her stallion's head and took them both for a walk, trying to stretch out the cramps before it was time to ride again.

The signal to ride came almost too soon.

"Lady?" An elf had come, gauging by his eyes –the only way Tera could really tell very much about them –infinitely younger than Glorfindel, to assist her.

She ignored the helping hand, as usual placing both hands onto the pommel of her side, readying her leap, when she suddenly felt hands on her upper arm, on the small, black design on her skin, where her sleeve had slid down her lean, scarred arm.

"And what is this?"

She whirled around, glaring. Proud, overbearing, _and_ annoyingly curious?

"It is what it is," she hissed, tugging her sleeve back from where it had fallen. Had he never seen others mark themselves before? Or did he condemn her as one of those who practiced 'self mutilation'?

"But why a dragon?" The elf persisted with his questions, lifting her sleeve once more to gaze at the dark dragon, wings outstretched and fangs gleaming, fire surrounding its figure.

Tera tensed as she noticed the other elves eyeing both it and her skeptically. Even Glorfindel seemed to be waiting for her answer.

"I was feeling particularly mean that night," she said, trying to make light of the question.

It didn't work.

"And why did you choose it?" the elf pressed.

Idiot, insufferable, bastard elf! She not –quite –snarled at the questioning eyes of the ellon.

"So I could remind me of what I am," she bit out, eyes flashing, daring anyone to challenge her.

No one did.

For one moment all was silent. Tera kept her chin held in defiance, an angry pride etched in her body.

Then. . .

"And who are you?"

More silence.

The tension filled thick in the air.

And then again-

"A hunter," she snarled, "a fighter. Someone who will never, _ever_, be held down. To remind me that I am power, and I am death, and that no one can ever bring me down.

"And," her voice lowered into a smolder, "to remind me that my life is _mine_, and no one, _no one_, be he orc or human or _elf_, can rule it for me."

She leaped onto Quest of War, challenge still brazen in her high-held head and blazing eyes, and her mount tore at air with his hooves in answer to her stiff tension and tightened reins.

And the elves gazed on with a dispassion that screamed something behind the silk walls. And Tera's eyes blazed with the knowledge of what they were, or at least what she thought they were, thinking.

She was as different from them as night from day. As black from white. And neither can live with each other. She knew very well that she could never tolerate them for long. She knew very well that they could only mask a tolerance for her.

And so she sat, a dark assassin on her dark, rearing horse, and without a word the elves motioned their white steeds on. And she followed, the outsider, the one with darkness and flame that could almost be more dangerous than any orc or goblin. Although of course, she would never use that power for any side but theirs.

Or would she. . .


	5. Lady Death

Yay. Reviews, finally: ). And ones that aren't all complaints. I'm glad you guys like Tera. I was hoping some of you would be able to connect with her. In my eyes, she's a braver person than most of the elves, and more complex and real than Maie was (for Icekube). I'm wondering whether to keep this an action story or make it a Glorfindel-Tera romance. It'll be a rocky relationship, though, and she'll still spit fire at him. Still, it'll be fun. Only problem is, I don't write romance.

.>

They rode without rest until it grew too dark for even elven eyes. Reggie's shadowed coat had long since faded into the night, and Tera knew that she herself was near invisible. She couldn't say she minded; the darkness was a comfort, not a curse, and her rogue's instincts would much rather have it than sunlight.

Cat eyes scanned the land around her. She hadn't informed the elves that she, with eyes honed from the life of an assassin, could see with uncanny ease, and even though her eyesight had by no means the range of an elf, when darkness fell it was she who was superior. Why should she? Even though she very much hated to admit it, she wasn't used to being on horseback for a quarter of the time she had been, and she was more than slightly sore.

She gave her mount a quick scratch, curling her fingers through the patches of limp mane, and felt dampened sweat on his neck. He was fit, there was no question about that, but rest would do him some good, as well.

Tera stretched her legs out of her stirrups for the umpteenth time, willing the cramps to fade. And, for the umpteenth time, felt them disinclined to cooperate.

Damned legs, she thought, glaring downwards.

The fact that most of the elves very politely failed to look in her direction hadn't failed to be noticed by Tera. She had long since realized that much of her chaffed against their sense of propriety. Hair wrenched back into a tangled knot, clothes the color of charcoal, designed to be fit for an assassin and no one else, and blades by a dark elf, used by one such as her. Lines of distaste crept across their faces whenever one, by chance, caught sight of her weapons. She wondered what they would do when she donned her armor as well.

Still, if what she was chaffed at them, what they were did the very same to her. Their attitudes, their compassion, their very. . . _rightness_, irked her, made her feel somehow beneath them. And Tera would not be beneath anyone.

They could not imagine what she had been through. They had no right to judge her lack of morals, not when they themselves had never experienced her life. Let them try to survive as what she was, see how _they_ would be able to live when life bestowed upon them so little. If they had to live as she did, she very much doubted that they would hold to their values and 'goodness' as they did now.

An elf up in front signaled for them to stop, and the others silently dismounted, setting up camp and talking in low tones elvish words that she would not be able to understand. She swung off her stallion, stifled a groan of pain, and helped without being asked. Thanks were given formally and curtly, with a sense of rudeness and scorn that wasn't –quite –there. She replied in very much the same way. Maybe the elves were masters of subtleness, but she was a thief. Her _job_ was to be subtle.

The only one who actually didn't steer as far from her was, of course, Glorfindel, though Tera rather thought it was merely the fact that she was so vital to his mission that he faked tolerance.

It didn't matter; she was used to being alone.

She deftly untacked her stallion, promising him a proper rubdown –later, before striding towards the rest of the elves, wordlessly helping to gather wood and set up the fire. She offered, not out of goodness but out of duty, to take the third shift on patrol. Then, armed with brush and currycomb and hoof pick, she started at Reggie's coat.

The cool night air had dried the sweat-drenched fur to a crusty sort of texture. Tera immediately attacked it with the currycomb, her stallion leaning into the firm strokes with his eyes half-closed in content. Quest for War with his eyes half shut reminded Tera uncannily of a dozing dragon.

By the time she'd gotten the caked sweat out of Reggie's coat, she was grimly aware that most of what had been on her horse was now on her. And, trading the currycomb for a stiff brush, she knew it was only going to get worse.

Still, her stallion _had_ to be clean and cared for before her. It was his feet carrying them both, after all. And so, gritting her teeth in a little parody of a smile, she went at the coat with the dandy, making sure it was soft and smooth before she allowed herself to stop.

The soft brush was next, and Tera used her whole body to drive brush into fur. Press down, push back, sweep out. She made sure every inch of dust was off her horse before letting up and finishing with her hoof pick.

And now he looked, well, just about as stunning as he would ever be. Even though she dared not touch his tail or his mane –they hardly grew at all, and she treated every individual strand like gold, which grew in clumps of matted hair down his neck, his coat gleamed softly. It wasn't a light-ish black that neared brown, nor a dark ebony that revealed blue when struck by light. No. It was black, a black-black that faded into shadows even when lit by moonlight. It was one of the things that gave him the title 'demon' in Bree, but Tera took pride in it rather than hated it. And the fact that it not shine was unthinkable to her.

Once done with his grooming, Tera dumped his feed onto the ground for him; she didn't think it worthwhile lugging along a feeding bin when Reggie was perfectly content eating from the grass. He had no hobble or lead rope, and was instead allowed to wander free. Maybe another horse would stray, but not hers. Not Reggie.

Only afterwards did she seat herself by the fire, brushing the worst of the grime from her clothes with a faint distaste, and amusement –a thief, afraid of a little dirt! Glorfindel set himself down beside her and offered her dinner by way of. . . a chunk of bread.

Oh, she didn't care if they ignored her, but if they wanted to _starve_ her as well she was going to. . .

The elf laughed quietly at her expression, shaking his head and pushing the waybread into her hands.

"Eat. It is _lembas_, not those abominations of foods you humans force yourselves to endure. A small piece can fill a grown man with ease, and that would probably be about twice of you, and the taste is incomparable to any fare you have ever had journeying. If you are already to suffer from the travel, why suffer doubly from the food, hmm?"

That did make sense, though of course the elves probably had a lot more time to actually come up with something more palatable than dried meat and salted fish. Tera took an experimental bite of _lembas_, and had to hid surprise from her face.

It was actually _good_! Not tolerable, but good!

Evidently, a bit of surprise and pleasure had escaped, for Glorfindel gave another laugh.

"And all this could last you well into tomorrow, if you are careful," he smiled.

Tera nodded slowly, taking time to chew before asking her question.

"How long is it to Rivendell. I do assume it is Rivendell we head to, is it not?"

"Yes, lady. It is no more than two days, at this pace. I must admit that your stallion has surprised us all, being able to keep up with our horses."

"And your horses had me pleasantly surprised as well, being able to keep up with mine," her acerbic reply captured her mood beautifully.

Glorfindel visibly composed himself before replying, calm and collected.

"It seems that every time I give a compliment you mold it into an insult."

"Every time _you _give a compliment you insult me or my kin," she shot back, "being an elf does nothing for your value, in my eyes."

Glorfindel seemed about to give a cold, icy reply, when Tera froze.

There was something there, in the woods, just moments ago. Something dark, even against the night sky, and tall, even though crouching. Which meant that it was probably human, or shaped somewhat similarly.

Glorfindel caught her tenseness almost before she took that stance, but his inquiry was quickly cut off.

"Warn the others. Something's out there," she murmured softly.

The elf gazed out, and seemed about to brush her comment off, when Tera spoke again.

"A group of them at least," she shot a sharp glare at the ellon, "I'm a thief, goddamn it! My job is to see in the dark. You may not trust me but you will do as I say, if you value your life."

Glorfindel hesitated, then gave a curt nod and shot out quick, low, elvish words. Immediately, hands were at their scimitars and arrows were readied.

It was a few seconds more before the intruders' footsteps were heard.

Quickly, the elves skimmed up trees and other places of hiding. Tera followed suit; why bother with a full-blown attack when one could surprise them in turn? She leaped nimbly up a branch, drawing her blade, and felt the familiar feeling of darkness engulfing her.

There was a tense silence, and then. . .

With a howl, the shadows outside the camp emerged and took form. Orcs, splayed with filth, charged towards the fire. Tera stayed where she was, still and practically invisible, watching as the orcs stopped, confused by the lack of any elf.

It was then that the elves attacked.

The arrows came first, from high up in the trees, seemingly from all directions. The only warning of their arrival, in the darkness of the night, was the silver-white glint of feather, brightened against black.

Chaos broke out as the orcs realized that it was they who were disadvantaged. The elves took advantage of their disorganization, and leaped lightly off their vantage points, drawing their scimitars in midair.

Now the real fighting began.

It was clear to Tera that the orcs, although outnumbering the elves at least three to one, had not the skill that hundreds of years of practice had granted the ellons. They swung wildly; the elves seemed almost to dance as they fought.

She leaped to a neighboring tree, quickly making her way to the edge of the orc party. She had no qualms to attack them from behind. She was a shadow amidst shadows. Of course she was going to take advantage of that.

A smallish orc was furthermost apart, and Tera scaled down to the bottommost branch of her tree, just above him. Straddling the branch with both legs, she silently lowered herself within reach.

He was dead within heartbeats.

Tera quickly took flight once again, staying within the darkness as a pair of orcs glanced at their dead partner. They seemed almost not to care, except that there may be a danger behind them. Tera swore mentally as she saw one looking as if to warn the others surging forwards towards the elves.

She swung from her tree, landing in a fighter's crouch. Hissing, mouth distorted in a snarl, she drew her rapier.

They stood stock still, surprised, and she didn't give them a chance to recover.

Tera lunged at the thinnish one to the left, almost invisible rapier given invisibility by the shadows of the night. He stood not a chance, but his partner charged forwards at her, heavy sword swinging a large arc.

She ducked underneath, merely avoiding, and swung herself _towards_ the orc, much to the thing's surprise. . .

. . .until he realized that her blade was held in front of her, driving into his chest.

Tera let her mouth form a predatory smile, baring her teeth even as she leaped nimbly away.

She was power, she was death. She was Tera. And she was in her element.

A blade driven through the soft flesh of its back saw a stocky archer in a crumpled heap on the ground, and one with a nose that Tera could have sworn was a snout soon after. Her rapier was streaked with the dark stickiness of blood, and smears of sprouted red splayed onto her boots and leggings.

And still she fought.

It was after her seventh –was it eight? –when she caught sight of it.

The orc, larger than the others, with deeply yellowed eyes and sunken, curving teeth. But it was its ears that Tera most noticed.

They were pointed.

It was said that orcs were elves, once, long ago.

Tera never believed them to be more than lies.

This one, obviously the leader, hefted its blade with surprising skill and confidence. As she watched, it lunged towards –was he Glorfindel? – who parried the longsword with a little difficulty.

And not surprisingly, for Tera saw that the elf was fighting off another orc behind him at the same time.

She didn't hesitate, but hefted her dagger and flicked it, with the deadly aim of an assassin, at the leader.

It struck true, honing in on the orc's left eye, and driving through soft tissue into its brain.

It never stood a chance.

The battle ended soon after.

Tera wiped her rapier clean on her tunic –it was beyond any semblance of cleanliness, anyway, and returned it to its scabbard.

"_That_ is considered a raiding party?" she demanded as she strode to retrieve her dagger.

"Now? Yes, it is. And if things continue as they are, the orcs will most certainly grow even more in numbers," Glorfindel voice was grim now, slightly hollow with fatigue and something Tera couldn't, quite, place, "but that was well fought, lady."

Tera grunted a reply, wrenching her dagger from the orc's eye socket.

"It's what I do, elf."

She caught sight of a little, leather pouch in the orc's jerkin, and without hesitation sliced its straps, starting to tuck her loot in her belt pouch. She looked up again to find Glorfindel's appalled gaze on her.

"Never looted from your victims?" she asked sarcastically, ". . .figures."

His gaze upon her made her feel low, dirtied, rather like scum. Her chin raised stubbornly in defense, and fire flew again into her eyes.

"You need not take from filth such as these," his reasonable tone chaffed further, "you do not need the gold. Why do you steal?"

She glared, resentment a burning coal in her heart.

"You forget who I am, elf."

Her voice was low and full of warning.

"You are a rogue."

His purposeful rewording of what she was tore a jagged slash into Tera's pride.

"_I'm a thief_. And don't you _ever_ forget that."

And then, jaw clenched in anger, she turned on her heel and strode off into her only ally, into the darkness of the night.


	6. Wrong Decisions

No reviews. . .sigh. . .: (.

It's not _that_ bad, is it?

.>.

Elrond gazed at the cool, stone wall under his feet in silence. His posture, erect and yet relaxed, had not changed for near an hour. Time, however, soon ceases to be of any importance to an immortal. Its bars were not the prison to him that they were to the race of man. He saw them, and he pitied them, for he knew that they would have to bow down before Time, and he knew that they would have no way of escaping it.

Elves did. They were firstborn, and so were slaves to none. A human may be stunned and gripped with awe at the overpowering grace of a waterfall, or the sunlit glory of bird against wind; Elrond had gazed upon both for an eternity and more, and if he gloried in them, he also regarded them with a calm acceptance. The sun would rise, the bright-eyed falcon would soar, the waterfall would crash into lake and stream.

He caught a slight motion out of the corner of his eye, and gave a near imperceptible nod. Glorfindel had arrived some time ago, and had returned with what he had sought. Elrond could only pray that the assassin be worthy of the elves' hopes. For he knew, more than most, that the lives of many other beings would coincide with those of the elves of Rivendell.

One can only hope, and pray that that hope will prove enough.

He blinked, sitting forwards just the slightest in attention as the curving, oaken doors swung open. Elves stood at either side of them, a slightly disdainful expression on their faces.

Now why was that? Elrond couldn't tell quite what he was expecting. A warrior, perhaps, with armor of steel and a greatsword clenched in his fists. Or maybe an archer, with calculating, ice-blue eyes and a grip of steel. Or maybe even a barbarian nomad, armed with the exotic and clothed a flowing furs and leathers.

But probably not this.

Elrond had to adjust his gaze somewhat lower, as the glint of blackened hair he sought reached only the shoulders of the more diminutive elves. The hair he could not –quite –describe as ebony, for behind the travel filth it did not gleam blue gloss at the overhead sun. It was raven-black, seemingly slashed in a V and knotted ruthlessly together. The hair too short to be tied fell over the sides of her face, threatening to cover her eyes. Her eyes were pitch-black, but far from deadened; they spat fire, leaping flames instead of molten lava. They should have been considered oversized for her slight face and quickly pointing chin, but weren't somehow. They did, however, give him the impression of examining a feline. If she had lived a quieter life, Elrond had a feeling those slanted, oval eyes would resemble something akin to a doe's. Now, though, they bordered on a point of explosion, and he didn't think they ever quite left that point.

The woman, even though she didn't look nearly that old, may have been small, but Elrond could see immediately that her size concealed much about her strength. Her arms were slender, but wired with muscle, and her legs long and lean. Her shoulders were broad, and held stiffly back by knotted tension that appeared so ordinary to her, he would not have been surprised if she'd lived most her life without ever relaxing them. Worst even than most humans, he thought skeptically, who rush through their lives without once stopping just to admire the beauty of their very selves.

He couldn't help but noticing her gait. Pride and tension were written all over her body, and yet she didn't so much stalk in as. . .glide. The woman strode in with an economy of movement so completely that one step could hardly be separated from another. It was through that movement, and the sharply flicking gaze of a hunter, that convinced her for Elrond. Yes, this woman could do as well as any other. She was a panther, a predator, a hunting cat. She would not fail in this chase.

"Greetings," he said, voice ringing with authority, and just for the mortal, in common speech, "I see you have found what you sought, Glorfindel."

"Indeed I have, Lord Elrond," the elf's tone was slightly amused, but he replied similarly.

"Greetings, lady," he now inclined his head towards her, "You are welcome here. I am Elrond, lord of Rivendell."

"Sure I am," she muttered to herself sarcastically, apparently underestimating an elf's hearing ability. Elrond kept his face bland and smooth, but did notice another elf give a slight choke.

Louder, Tera continued, ignoring his silent request for her name.

"And what would you have me do? I am at your service, for now. There will be no need for diplomacy." Her voice was curt, blunt, and a trifle sardonic.

Elrond glanced for a moment at Glorfindel, and the latter gave an apologetic look and an almost imperceptible shrug.

"I fear that elves have a natural tendency for diplomacy, lady, but if you wish I will be more forward."

"I know that it is about the orcs. I know that an army masses around here, I know that they are controlled by a magical pendent, and I know that you need me to assassinate their leader. Am I missing much else out?"

The elf seemed, to her amusement, at a loss for words. He recovered much faster than she'd ever have given him credit for, however, and never changed his serene expression to one even of the slightest annoyance.

"All that you know is, indeed, accurate. Good. I have heard that you did well against the orc party who attacked the camp. The only thing you need now from us is the location. . . and perhaps the timing."

"The timing?"

"The orc leader, Sarn, is more often than not beyond our sights. He comes, oh about every fortnight, to a small army posted not thirty miles from us. Then is the only time that I can give you a trustworthy location of his whereabouts, I am afraid."

"And when has he last been here?"

"A week and a little more ago. You are welcome here until then. We can provide you with an armor and weaponry fit for lords, and our stable –"

"_My lord I am warning you speak nothing of her horse,_" Glorfindel hissed in elvish.

Tera, however, was hardly listening. Elrond could almost see the wheels in her brain turning as she pondered the turn of events. If she refused point-blank to stay, it would be a great hassle to hurry her back in time.

"My gear is fine," she murmured absently, tugging a lock of hair away from her eyes. Yes, she would have to stay, like it or not. There wasn't much of a way around that fact.

"So I shall stay here for four, five days? I will need housing, in isolation if possible, in someplace quiet if not," she decided.

Elrond breathed a mental sigh of relief.

"The accommodations will not be a problem, lady. Glorfindel will show you to your room," Tera knew a dismissal when she heard one, and was prepared to pretend otherwise just for spite.

Glorfindel, however, also caught the dismissal, and answered politely before hurriedly steering Tera out of the room.

"You know," he said conversationally into Tera's ear as he positioned her safely in front of him, "I can tell when you are going to start anything. There's this little glint that appears in your eyes, rather like a hobbit's."

"Hmm? Glint in my eyes?" Tera was already mentally erasing glinting eyes from her list of habits, "thank you, I'll change that."

"That, lady, was supposed to be something to be laughed at. The little glint only helps remind me that you are, indeed, human."

"And that I'm not supposed to be?" She asked suspiciously, eyes narrowing.

Glorfindel gave a little sound of frustration.

"Do you see ill in everything around you? The comment was made in jest."

Tera gave a little snort as she strode on.

"I would think that I have a reason for suspicion. Do not judge me, elf, with your kind. I have lived through more than you can ever imagine."

"And what is that?" the elf's voice was low and soft and spoke of more than annoyance.

But Tera merely glared and increased her pace, ignoring Glorfindel's question.

Insufferable elf, she raged silently, knowing full well that the reason she had been in this mood was because of her vulnerability. There was no darkness here. She had no command over this realm. If they would have her executed now she _might_ be able to escape, but once outside she was helpless. Her only defense she could fall back upon was her anger. Her anger to mask her fear, her anger to mask her helplessness. If nothing else, she had her anger.

It seemed, however, that her silence was the last straw for the already annoyed ellon.

Tera felt the hard slap of back against wood as she was slammed against the hard oak of the wall. Instinctively, she ducked her head and slammed her arms forward. _Mistake_, she knew instantly, as she felt lithe, strong hands wrap around them, pinning her further to the wall. Growling, she used the support of those hands, launching her leg upwards until it not –quite –slammed against his throat.

Stalemate.

She felt her breath come harshly through a low, feline snarl as she watched the elf's eyes fly open in surprise.

"Believe me, elf, I am no easy prey," she hissed, feeling his grip on her loosen and lowering her leg in turn.

"You test my patience, mortal," he growled back, softly.

They glared at each other, feeling tension growing, neither willing to drop their gaze, when a voice came from beside them.

"Lord Glorfindel? I would inform the lady that her room is ready. It is the first down to the left. Isolated, just as she requested," the quiet voice was questioning, and Tera noted how the elf would not acknowledge her.

Fine, then.

"I believe that I can find my own way," she fell back to her dark, exotic accent that seemed to offend elvish propriety, nodding mockingly to the elf as she shouldered past.

"Lord Elrond would have me escort you," Glorfindel's tone showed just how distasteful that very notion seemed, even as he strode forward to keep up.

Tera stopped abruptly and whirled around.

"Believe me elf that is not necessary," she snarled, eyes blazing in anger.

Glorfindel didn't reply, merely took the left turn to her room, leaving her to catch up. Growling in ill-suppressed rage, she stalked after him.

They reached her room without speaking a word, and Glorfindel departed without a backwards glance. So be it. She had no desire to talk to anyone, much less him.

Fury saw her smashing her fist onto the door, slamming in shut and giving herself a not-so-pretty bruise in the process. Eyes slit, she stalked across the room and flung herself onto the silken-white softness of the bed.

That, she thought, was a disaster.

But she _had_ given her word on going through with it, and her word was something Tera never broke. So she was stuck in this little quest. And the worse thing about it was that she was the one to blame.

Do orcs have jewels, she repeated mockingly in her mind, idiot, idiot girl, _think _before you do anything.

Still, it was too late to do much about it. She hauled herself out of bed, and grabbed a fresh set of clothing.

She'd ponder on this until she gave herself a headache. . .later. Right now, she needed a bath.


	7. Elven Secret

Okay, so people, romance or no? As in Tera/Glorfindel. Can't decide. . .

:>

Tera crept softly through the moonlit corridor outside her room, giving the dim light of the full moon an absent minded glare as she avoided it for its concealing twin. She kept to the shadows of nightfall, her clothes of flowing black reflecting as little as her calculating gaze.

She was not here to steal, as tempting as it was. The risks were too great that any blame at all would be piled on her, and now that she was at a disadvantage she would not risk anything. No, she was not here to steal. Hard as it was to believe, she wasn't here to do any mischief whatsoever.

No, Tera was looking for the stables. She had her doubts about the elves' enthusiasm in caring for her horse, and if Reggie were to go through the night uncomfortable from dried sweat, Tera was the one who'd have to pay tomorrow.

She strode through the corridor, leaping lightly onto the pillar at the end, and swung herself onto the roof. Cutting silently through the many natural buildings, she allowed a hint of relaxation to come to her. Here, in the darkness, she felt safe again. Here, nothing could bring her down.

The stables were to her left, if her memory still served, but her quick glance caught a bright light in the opposite direction. Another, longer gaze told her of food and drink, and music melted softly into scented air. Curiosity tore at her as she paused, undecided.

Idiot girl, she knew, curiosity killed the cat.

But it _did_ have nine lives. . .

Idiot girl.

Decided now, even if she was cursing herself all the way, Tera slithered down the roof towards the feast. Just for a while. Just to see for herself the doings of the elvenkind. No one would notice her, anyway-

"I see you've thought to join us, lady,"

She noticed him before she landed. Really, she _did_!

Idiot girl.

Tera didn't jump. . . _that_ high. She did a. . . controlled pretension of flight and landed awkwardly. And swore. A little swear.

Flushing, embarrassed, ready to spit, she made a not-_quite_-so-controlled ninety-five degree turn and was even more annoyed than she had to look up to see the elf.

"I'm just leaving, elf."

"I don't even want to _think_ about the number of times I've asked to be called Glorfindel," came the reply, although full of amusement yet again.

"Life's not fair now, is it, honey?" Her voice was acid-like in its sarcasm, "Your humor's been revived? Stay here a bit longer and I'll deal with that."

Glorfindel gave a shake of his head.

"Bitterness is a flaw, lady. Why allow it so much power?"

Sensing a fight, however, he quickly changed the subject.

"Come now, we had expected you to join us to sup," he said, motioning to the Great Hall.

"I wasn't hungry," she replied diffidently. That was true. The fact that she was extremely annoyed and throwing a temper tantrum was also true.

"And are you now?"

She paused, thinking.

"Maybe."

"You know, lady, you're quite correct," Glorfindel sighed as he led Tera to the Great Hall.

"Hmm?" The aroma of food was. . . distracting.

"My humor _is_ fading."

She gave a little laugh as she helped herself to food. She was the only one, she noticed, and wondered for a moment just how late she was. But the food was far from cold and she pushed that thought from mind as she followed the elf to a corner of the room.

"Lady? I'd like you to meet Estel."

Tera glanced up. The first thing she noticed was very agreeable to her. Black hair. Non-pointed ears boded well, too. Add the fact that this human was clothed fully in unadorned black and she was able to ignore her food for a halfway agreeable smile. For a while.

"It's nice to meet you, . . .?"

"Better not ask that just yet, honey, unless you want our first fight," her chuckle wrapped the words in a dark haze. That he didn't appear offended had her cracking a quick, feline grin.

"Lady then?" His eyes were young, no more than twenty, probably about sixteen, and his smile was affable and slightly roguish.

"Or cheese, or cat, or apple, I care not," she agreed.

"I think I'll call you Cat."

"Estel," Glorfindel's tone was warning, and his eyes apologetic.

"She acts like one," he pointed out stubbornly, "and she doesn't act like a lady."

Now Tera laughed, a real, if slightly predatory, laugh.

"I like this one, Glorfindel. No, he's quite safe under my corrupting influence, no worries."

"Oh, I'm not," he replied darkly, the nearest Tera had ever heard him get to sarcasm.

She gave another little chuckle, helping herself freely to food, as Estel started pointing out different people and unashamedly telling most all of their life stories –including aspects Tera did _not _quite need to hear. Glorfindel tolerated much, but his limit was finally reached, and he excused himself politely to rejoin the world of elven sanity.

"I was wondering when he'd quit," Tera murmured, amused, as she finished off her food.

"_I_ think he likes us," Estel countered, "otherwise he wouldn't be here in the first place."

"He was here in the first place because I appeared literally under his nose."

"How'd you get there?"

Tera gave a little, laughing snort.

"I came down from the roof."

"Like a thief?" The boy's eyes were wide, now, and Tera had a feeling that his thieves only existed in fairytales.

"Honey, I _am_ a thief."

Estel sat back and seemed to take all she said in. And there was more than a hint of hero worship in his eyes.

For a thief? Who'd have thought. . .

"But I still think he likes us," Estel plowed on, "he just knows he isn't supposed to."

"Hmm?"

"_They_ don't like you," he motioned at the rest of the elves, "they think he shouldn't, either."

"They don't?" That was nothing new. Even though, Tera had to concede, she hadn't given them much cause to accept her, anyway.

Well, what was she to do? Wait upon them hand and foot and kiss the mud off of their boots? She rather go to the orcs.

And, anyway, maybe, just maybe, when all this was over. . .

Well, Tera had been. . . observing the Great Hall. She noticed intricately carved wood, towering pillars, awing architecture. She _also _noticed sparkling jewels, the many, iridescent gemstones coaxed into the shapes of leaf and bird and lake. Swathes of melded color melted apart to form designs that seemed almost to call her name. She fought to remain focused on Estel as larceny tugged at her heart.

Just maybe she'd take a bit of payment. . . to her choosing. A few of the things they might not want to give.

She _was_ thinking of leaving Bree, anyway; too many people knew of her there. It wouldn't matter if the elves ransacked the whole place for it, then. _She'd_ be gone, to some other little town.

_Run away to another place. Find a new name and face. Your reputation will precede you, idiot._

"See? Just now? The one with the light blue dress?" Estel seemed intent on proving his point, and she shook off the riches of the room to glance at the elven lady with layers of what seemed, absurdly enough, like cloud as a dress.

"She doesn't like me, hmm? Well, let me tell you a secret."

"A secret?"

"Mm hmm. Something just between you and me."

Estel leaned forwards eagerly, and Tera caught and held his gaze.

"The elves? I pity them."

The boy looked startled beyond words.

"But. . . But they think. . . They pity us!"

"Oh, yes, they pity us. I know that, they think it sad we cannot live forever. They shake their heads at us, running through our lives, never stopping, never thinking. They think us worse than them.

"But I'll tell you something. These elves. They'll never gaze at this one, rich sunset and think, 'there is nothing more beautiful in this world'. They'll never gamble everything in their lives for just this one moment and feel the heady fever of hysterical success when they win out. They'll never ever laugh and cry at nothing much at all, and dance wildly in the rain for no apparent reason. They'll never live recklessly, just because there might not be tomorrow. Listen to me. They'll never die, that is true, but they'll never live like we can."

If Estel replied, Tera didn't hear it. An elf chose that moment to rush over.

She tensed automatically; she knew excitement when she saw it hide behind dancing blue eyes.

"Yes?" She asked without preamble, bouncing quickly on her heels as she rose.

"Elrond will see you. It appears the orc has arrived."


	8. Time Enough

Thanks so much you guys for reviewing. (Icekube! Yay!) Um. . . I think I'll make this story a romance, but only slight, cuz really I don't like writing anything but action or angst. But not with Aragorn, sorry, he's a bit young. With Glorfindel. Besides, Aragorn doesn't hold enough excitement and enigma to keep her. She'll eat the poor guy alive.

p.s. Meluivan Indil- so glad you feel that way to. I thought I was the only one so I just wrote it in hopes of convincing people that elves truly aren't of eternal happiness and holiness and such. Tera's gonna prove that. . .

> > > >. . .> > >

Tera reclined into a beautifully crafted chair with an implied sloth. She raised a knee as a headrest and idly tapped her foot on the smoothly carved wood of her seat.

Idly? Maybe not so much. She could feel her muscles tight under her languid frame, and her shoulders were giving her a headache. But she was being scorned; that was good. She wanted to be underestimated. It would make her job. . . so much easier.

And Farothdûr gazed at her from half-closed lids and wondered, yet again, what it was Glorfindel saw.

She was a fighter, yes; her eyes was as cool and calculating as any veteran. She was not plagued by any of the self-consciousness that was so common in men –her slashed off hair made his skin crawl and her feline face, with those hugely slanted eyes, was clean but unadorned. Her mannerisms were. . . strange, and he had a feeling that she was as much a stranger to her own race as she was here. She was. . .exotic, was the only word that came to him. Exotic in her darkly husky voice, in her underlying amusement and scorn at most everything, in her throaty, feline chuckle.

She was not beautiful in any conventional way, neither for elf nor human. Her face tapered quickly into a narrow, stubborn chin, and her eyes took up much too much of her face. Her nose was small and delicate and completely dwarfed by her eyes, and her lips, though full, were locked in a perpetual smirk. No, she could not be considered beautiful. And yet she was, somehow. No, not beautiful, but striking. Striking in the way a moth sees a flame. There was so much . . . fire, so much life, so much challenge. It called for attention, called for love, or hate, but nothing in between. She was passionate in all that she did, in anger and argument, in fight and defiance. Oh, she was passionate, and it was that passion that either pushed or pulled people to her.

"Right now, you're wondering what the hell it is Glorfindel saw in me. And I'm sitting here wondering what exactly is it he sees in you," the voice disturbed him from his pondering, and he gracefully controlled a wave of irritation.

"Greetings, lady. My name is Farothdûr," his voice he made sure was carefully controlled as he nodded amicably to Tera.

She raised an eyebrow in response.

"Charmed."

Sarcasm was _very_ evident, and the elf shut his eyes quickly to hide seething annoyance.

"Likewise," was his cool reply, and Tera shrugged and resumed her tapping.

She flashed a glance at Elrond, who sat, still and serene as marble, watching the exchange. Tera raised an eyebrow in turn at him, and was slightly irked when he showed no sign of irritation, instead merely inclining his head towards her.

"I see you are. . .comfortable." He said, glancing down at her tapping foot. "Shall we begin?"

She nodded slightly in answer, giving another little tap on purpose before stilling her leg. She wondered if the elf had realized that his serenity only encouraged her to prod even more relentlessly at him. If he did, he didn't show it.

Disappointment, disappointment.

"An elven scouting party has spotted the orc –Sarn, heading towards his stronghold here. The most he will be here is four, five days, which means that–"

"We'll have plenty of time," Tera cut him off lazily, hooking her leg under the chair to pull herself upright.

A raised eyebrow was Elrond's answer. Quickly concealed emotions from other elves ranged from mild anger to fury to extreme annoyance. Tera recline slightly in her chair and gave her challenge.

It was slightly disappointing that none answered.

"You will be accompanie-"

"I need no companion."

"You do not know where to go."

Tera paused, ready to say, just in spite, that she would find it herself.

But Elrond, _damnable elf_, was right. This time at least. She wouldn't quite be able to have so much success engaging in a wild goose chase.

"Alright," she said slowly, "who will come with me?"

She felt the slight smirk before she saw it. _Oh no, please not. . ._

"Lord Glorfindel, of course. He will be your guide and partner."

Tera broke in with all haste.

"My lord I am sure a guide shall suffice."

"Be as that may, he shall go with you. Lord Glorfindel has. . .scores to settle."

Elves on a revenge hunt? Tera almost laughed.

"Really," she drawled, amusement evident in her voice even as she saw Glorfindel's eyes narrow almost imperceptibly.

"Yes, really," he said, voice low and growl apparent. His eyes, she saw with interest, had frozen coldly from calm, dark waters to white-blue ice. She tossed her head up with enough defiance to mask a slight. . .fear, only dimly aware of Elrond's watchful, almost interested gaze. She couldn't care. The challenge was laid, and she would answer.

_I'll always answer. I have no choice._

"Sweet as that is, I need no elf slowing me down," she replied, hating the little tremor of foreboding that plagued her when his eyes froze further, letting the flame in her eyes burn her dread into an unnoticeable pile of ash.

"That may be, lady," his voice was cold and brittle, "but I will accompany you."

Her glare was wildfire and leaping flames, and she barely heard Elrond's cough. But she did, and she tore her gaze furiously away from the opposing elf to glare at him.

"I am afraid you have no choice, lady. I will spare no one but Lord Glorfindel." His voice was strong and conclusive, and Tera had to acknowledge its power.

Her chin was kept stubbornly up. A little snarl was still etched on her mouth. Her hands clenched visibly on the oaken table.

But she had no choice.

"So be it," she snarled softly, cape swept behind her as she slashed the chair backwards and stalked away, "we leave at dawn."

Tera awoke to the distant humming of nightfall and cricket, eyes flung open and heart hammering harshly. The same old nightmare haunted her always, for as long as she could remember.

Walls, dark walls, closing in around her. She couldn't see, couldn't think, couldn't breathe.

_Why?_

Oh, she knew the reason well enough. Her freedom was at stake. She was at Lord Elrond's whimsy. She knew not any way out. Already she was being forced against her will.

_Idiot girl. Will you **ever** think?_

She slipped quietly out of bed, preparing her travel gear before striding softly towards the stables. Reggie was always a comfort, a quiet protector. He was the only living being who was, and so she clung to him for her stability. All people had their stability pillars, be they friends or family or job, that kept them alive, sane, happy. Tera only had two. Her pride, and her horse.

And she wouldn't lie to herself. Two was not enough.

A grim smile crossed her features. Oh, she knew what she was. If anything, she prided her knowledge on what she was. Passionate, vengeful, hot-tempered, dark, defiant, proud. Fiercely loyal, dedicated, determined. She was a scrapper; she'd never give in. And yet her sanity hung by threads to such fickle things as life and pride.

There were fickler things, she supposed. Hope, for example. Love, as well.

"Reggie? Regs?"

A low whicker greeted her approach, and she crept to his stall to find him stretched lazily on the straw, coat gleaming but tail tangled with his bedding. She let her packs drop with a soft thud as she entered the stable.

"Sweetie, they groom you for a reason; to get you clean," she sighed as she curled up next to him. He smelled of herb and flower, and Tera knew instantly that the elves had given him so much more than a mere rubdown and grooming. A slight shame haunted her before she pushed it aside.

_So I'll thank them later. So what?_

_So maybe you were a little rude, honey._

_Shut up. It's not like I care._

Consciences could be quite the little flea.

She tried to glare at the early morning sky, but the musky scent of hay and horse was oddly soothing. Sleep crept softly to her, and it was too tempting to shove aside as she rested her head comfortably on Reggie's shoulder. It was near dawn, and Glorfindel would arrive in moments, but she wanted to have some time with her horse for a while.

_It'll only be for a mome. . ._

Glorfindel gazed quietly at horse and girl, careful not to disturb either.

Wasn't it strange how much younger she looked when she was asleep? She was, he realized, closer to nineteen than his assumption of twenty-eight. There was no belligerence in sleep, no untold nightmares or flame-bright anger. Just. . . just something almost akin to innocence on her face.

Well yes, maybe not quite innocence. But in sleep she didn't give the impression of a cornered cat, hiss and growl included. No, she radiated something different. Sadness. Not an intense, sharpened agony but a dull throb that was probably lost to everyone when placed beside that passionate defiance, or that blinding rage. Not for the first time, he wondered if she had no happiness in her life.

What had happened to her to make her grow so wary, so expectant of enemies? She had no friends, no family, no one but a raven steed that slightly resembled a crow. And she clung to _that_ so fiercely that Glorfindel had begun to fear her sanity should she lose him.

He shook his head slightly. He had problems enough without the burden of her's. Sarn was lurking just beyond reach, and he had much to account for.

_Rëathur, I promise you, you shall be avenged._

Silencing all thought of Tera, he spoke quietly in the silence of the stableyard.

"Lady?"

Even with her eyes shut he could see her awake. The immediate tensing of muscle. The slight panic on her face. The clenching of fist on mane. He could tell when she remembered her whereabouts, as Tera relaxed every-so-slightly, and slowly opened her eyes to face him.

Her straight length of hair fell tousled over her face and covered one of those wary, wary eyes. They were half shut but alert, and the elf wondered briefly in she ever quite relaxed. Probably not.

He stood, still as stone, as she stretch slowly, in a disturbingly feline manner.

"Mmmmm?" The thick, lazy question came like a heavy ladle of cream.

"We should be going," he replied woodenly, wondering what it was she did that made him react like. . . like a statue.

_It is only her attitude. Not even one such as her should be so. . . immature. But let her not affect you, nonetheless. The task ahead has no place for any less than total concentration._

Tera leaped lightly to her feet, coming from sleep to complete awareness in a matter of moments. Her expression resumed its taught pride, and a slight scowl spoke of her embarrassment.

"Of course. I must apologize. I'd come prepared," she replied brusquely, reverting back to stubborn rebelliousness.

For a moment he regretted waking her. Just for a moment. Another wakeup call and the thought was over. They had a job to do. They would do it.

"Let us go, then."


	9. Call to Flame

Guys, I _know_ this is really short, really I do. But it was either give this now or give a longer one weeks later. Ya, um, that's the bad news. . . see, the thing is I'm horribly busy right now, and I seriously don't have _any_ time to write. Why oh why does God make exams. . . So. I'm going to. . . disappear for a time. With exams, with vacation. . . Give me two, three months? I _know_ I'd be pissed at myself, but. . . pleeaase?

I might post in between then if I somehow find the time, and the urge to write unbearable, but it'll be short. Pretty much as short as this.

Btw, thanks so much for the reviews. Meluivan Indil: We all love a challenge, don't we. But I _do_ see the end result really clearly. Not how it'll get there though, I'll figure it out as I write. But come on, fire and water, what better match? IceKube: Heh. . . you'll see my name in the bookstore's list, under "Worst Selling Authors".: ) But thanks, I was in happyland for a while: ). Alasse: Dark Angel? TV show, yes? Yes, I know, I'm a caveman. Don't rub it in. . .: ). ZombieGurl98: Yikes, then you'll really be pissed at this chapter. . . heh. SORRY! faeriekittie306 animelover: Thanks so much so sorry about the updating thing. . . what can I say? School should die. . .

. .>

It was wet.

That thought had been with Tera for the past God-knew-how-long hours.

It was _very_ wet.

Not that Tera didn't _like_ the rain, oh no, definitely not. But there came to a point where soaked breeches and wretched cold really did state that enough was enough.

And that point came. . . a _long_ time ago.

"It is about three days to the orc stronghold," a soft, stiff voice came from in front.

"Only?" she asked, surprised. Just three days by horseback, that was about five, six on foot. Which really wasn't that far from Rivendell.

"Only," he confirmed, ice hardening his voice, "so you now see our dilemma."

Tera nodded slightly, knowing he'd not be able to see her reply, but knowing that he'd either assume he'd nodded or just take it as another of her personality flaws. She didn't care. She preferred the passion, the fire, the gaping flaws of fight to. . . that, that serene cultivation of water, those hidden emotions, that harsh coldness of ice. They could hide anything, those, those, those. . . those black and white people. How could one live without the constant red of anger, or black of fear, or whirlwind of color of intense joy?

"They do not know the location of the House of Elrond, currently. However, they had taken a scout captive about a year ago." The chill of his voice seemed to radiate from his entire person, and his usually stiff form was held so still he seemed almost statuesque in the new wash of moonlight.

"They _had_ taken a scout?"

"He died." The answer was short, cold, harsh. Tera kept silent. She knew this. She knew grief. She remembered how she'd longed for silence, for solitude. Solitude she could give.

She let the silence afterwards stretch and linger, and engulf them both. But there was no comfort in that silence, just an unfinished foreboding that made the cool after-rain breeze thickly compressing. And she knew that he would continue. He had to continue.

"He was. . . tortured –to death – and his body was laid for us to find. His name was Arendur. He was there for six months." His voice was cold, and emotionless.

She let the silence come again for a few moments. And then –

"He was brave," she said softly.

It was strange, was it not, how freely elves gave their names. How free they were with so many things, hospitality, description, wealth, and yet Glorfindel sat still as marble on his mount, eyes unseeing and impassive.

"He was braver than you and I could ever be."

"He was," she replied, and she knew that they were the right words to say.

It surprised her, her caring. Maybe it was because she knew grief, knew its dark form well enough to stand by those who had known it as well. It was not black, was grief. No. It was a dull, shadowed gray, which threatened to engulf and overwhelm and render helpless.

And she knew that only too well.

If Glorfindel was surprised by her sudden change of attitude, he didn't comment. He'd probably not have noticed, so engulfed was he by some distant memory. Tera kept watch, keeping her sight and hearing sharp to the woods around, knowing that the elf, though forcing himself to focus on his duty, would probably not be at his best. It would be a stupid way to die, and Tera had ceased to be stupid long ago.

Glorfindel sat still, silent, statuesque on his steed. There was no grief in his eyes, yet it echoed off of him, muted but still apparent.

And he stayed that way until night came too far for much to be seen anymore, before offering a curt stoppage for the night.

Tera immediately felt her hackles rise, and she nodded with a curtness of her own.

They set up camp in silence, but it was not the same silence as when they were on horseback. No. This was a familiar. This silence was full of tension, full of explosive hostility.

It was, she had to admit as she picked out Reggie's hooves, a good change to normality.

"First watch?" she asked diffidently, not bothering to glance up from her horse.

"That would be best. I need not the rest you do," he replied coolly.

"Ah, oh course not. Not the Great Elf Glorfindel. I'm surprised you need any sleep at all." Heavy, heavy sarcasm. Cynical little smirk. _Definitely_ back to normal.

The silence filled a darkened cloud between them both, and Tera could feel annoyance practically radiated off of the elf. Another lecture, then. She wondered if he'd not realized yet that reason had absolutely no effect on her.

"Lady, if we are to succeed in this, I suggest we find a way to communicate without-"

"Snarling like pit-bulls? Pity, I enjoyed it so much."

"It appears that every time I attempt to right a wrong you grow intent on letting the ill fester."

"Mmm? You just figured that out?" She had really no idea why exactly she so enjoyed prodding at the elf.

Then, silence again. And when Tera looked back, Glorfindel was gone.

She shook her head slightly in amusement, and returned to her task.

It was about half an hour before she'd finished with the stallion, and she opted without hesitation to skip dinner and take the first watch some distance from camp. Maybe she did enjoy needling the elf, but violence might not be such a good thing here. She had enough against her as it was.

Glorfindel watched her darkly from narrowed eyes. Already he felt his control fading, cracks creeping into his coldly built wall of ice. He felt torrents of raging waters behind them, knew that this wall he _must_ hold up. Emotion was deadly. Anger, frustration, fear, joy; those were fickle, quick to come and quick to leave. Devastatingly quick to leave.

And that was why she was so dangerous. The woman surrounded herself with emotion, raw, uncontrolled emotion. She may blaze like glory, allure like leaping flame, but she would fall in the end.

She drew him to her. Yes, fine, he'd admit it. Such fire, such defiance, such emotion would draw many people. She was of hatred and anger and fiery boldness, and he could not deny that he wanted to soak in even the shadow of her flame. Fire worked that way, so passionate, compelling, exciting, so tempting in its heat and life. It was invincible and immortal and exposed and frail. It was strong and weak and life and death and God help him, he needed a bit of her warmth, a bit of something beyond the cool and calm of his life. But he knew fire. There was danger in it, and he knew more than to give in to its call. That fire would burn was cliché, and yet there was a reason for that. Fire _did_ burn.

Shaking his head, he bent to retrieve her dinner. If she wanted seclusion, it was hr choice, but she must at least have something to sustain her until the 'morrow.


	10. Fire and Ice

Is short and sweet okay? Finally found a bit of time to type! Thanks for everyone's patience and tolerance and pleeeaaaase don't take revenge and not review! Pllleeeeaaasse?

Alateriel 567: Yay! Thank you! However. . . heh, well, this isn't exactly really long and all. . . But it has a lot in it!

Demee wolfsa2001: Heh, I love the horse too! He's actually my dream horse. . .But he has to be able to jump! And cat fights. . .well, just read on :)

LockAndKey: Yay, publicity stunt:) Could actually use that:) Hey I'm not sinister! I'm a good little girl! Just ignore the horns. . .

ZombieGurl98: Yah, um, same thing about this chapter. It's not. . .long. But it leads to a lot and _I_ think it's really sweet in the end.

Sherryf101: Tera. . . _is_ human, but. . . maybe her past can find a place in this story, or else I'll write another short piece about it. It won't be anything ordinary, certainly, and very cynical and. . .depressing, I guess. But maybe Glorfindel will find out about how the power inlayed in the dark elven gear affects her.

Fk306 animelover: Hee. . . I can't though. So sorry! I'm not a slug! Honest!. . .not. . .

Meluivan Indil: Is the ice melting, or the fire cooling? Which will cave in first? Heh heh heh. . .

So, enjoy and please review!

Glorfindel entered the masses of trees softly, using the memories and feelings of the old ones to locate Tera. She was crouched, silent, on a thin limbed branch, and not for the first time the elf was struck by her un-humanlike balance and grace.

Well, not grace, not really. For the elves moved with the ethereal grace of a cat, seeming almost to dance on air. Tera moved like a feline, yes, but had instead the economy of movement much like a panther. There was no beauty, but rather pure efficiency. She was _efficient_, purely efficient. She was a hunter, and so was so much unlike the elves that there could be no comparison.

"Yes?" Her pointed question for some reason had the elf clenching his teeth.

"You did not take your dinner. I'm bringing it to you," he replied, short and clipped and professional as he could have wished.

"I do not need a caretaker." Her voice was low, dangerous even, and Glorfindel felt his eyes narrow on their own accord. Who did she think she was? He'd been the polite one. Here he was _bringing_ her food!

"It appears that you do, seeing as you refuse to eat." His voice, to his mild amazement, had turned harsh and cold and cutting.

Silence.

And then a low, amused laugh.

"It seems that you do indeed have a darker side, elf."

The fact that she was mocking him infuriated Glorfindel. Even more infuriating was the fact that the laugh aroused quite as much as it angered. That a mere mortal –a childish one at that! –could spit fire at him, at an _elf_, was unheard of!

"You play with things you do not know, lady," he growled softly, "you are either extremely stupid or extremely brave."

Tera cocked her head slightly, tossing her head in defiance.

"Can't I be both?" She challenged.

"Both will take to the same unfortunate path if you continue such." The threat was issued low and dark with warning, and was known to quail the best of man and elf.

"I choose whether or not my path is unfortunate or not." Tera set her chin in defiance, and if fear flickered for moments on her face it was quickly replaced with leaping flame.

Glorfindel gritted teeth against temper. The girl would not back down! Never before had he been challenged so! That a human could stand up to an elf was. . .

Appalling, said one voice. Appealing, said another.

He chose to ignore the latter. This was unacceptable! Elves were the older, and the wiser, and the stronger, and-

". . .proud."

The elf quickly regained focus on the present in time to catch Tera mid sentence.

"You elves are so proud," she continued softly, almost to herself, "so wise, are

you? So strong and so disciplined. None can ever be good enough for you. The dwarves are too greedy; the humans, too weak. Not immortal and ethereal, and so condemned. You hold only contempt for us."

"Not contempt," Glorfindel denied vehemently, "just-"

"Pity?" Tera questioned harshly, "save it, elf. We need none. Would you like to know what I see?"

Without waiting for his reply, she continued on.

"I see a dying race, losing its place in Middle Earth, clinging on to the shadow of its past. I see something weaker than what we humans have become. Look at what we have made! Look at our power! We have flaws, yes, but you won't even look at our strengths! And we have many; do you not see the wagon, and the wheel? The things we have created, the things we have yet to create. We are growing, empowering, persevering. We are not to be pitied!

"No," she snarled, "I pity _you_, elf."

The insolence of this mortal! He offered her wealth and prestige and honor! She should be prostrate in gratitude! Enough was enough! Quicker than thought, Glorfindel swung himself onto Tera's branch, knocking her harshly to the trunk of the tree. Relishing in those moments of fear as she struggled to keep her balance. Who was strength now? Who was power?

He pressed her back against the tree with enough pressure to keep her in that precarious state of half-crouch-half-fall. And yet even then flame crept into her eyes and she started to struggle in earnest.

Flame, fire, fight! She infuriated him, awed him, taunted him. He must overcome her, conquer her, rise above her! He was an elf! He had lived decades before her kind had even come to her so-called power. He had seen real beauty, real strength, real greatness! He must have supremacy now, over her!

If only that were an easy task.

Tera lashed out hard and quick, desperation staying any lightening of her vicious blows. How dare he! Who did he think she was? She flailed out with her arm, delivering a glancing blow enough to disorient the elf before realizing her mistake.

Unbalanced, Glorfindel staggered slightly back on the tree as a snarling Tera bumped into him. Her weight and his combined were something not even elven balance could deal with, and they hurtled downwards onto the –luckily –soft forest bed. He heard a hiss of shock as the mortal hit the mass of leaves underneath him, and immediately braced his elbows before him to keep from slamming into her. Instinct had him check all his body for injuries, but the ground was cushion enough even for the impact to his arms. He glanced down at Tera to do the same.

Dark, dark eyes stared at him from below, expressionless to the point of worry. Was she okay? Was this beyond offense in human standards? The elf started to move, maybe even to apologize, when her mouth began to twitch upwards. It was his turn to stare as a small sound started softly ascending. She was laughing. She was _laughing_?

Tera's whole body convulsed as she shook with laughter. Her real laugh, Glorfindel realized, wasn't low and dark and deadly. No. It was light and high and if not tinkling, still addictive and catching.

"Are you alright?" He asked, unable to quite stop the smile from entering his voice.

She chocked and shook her head and continued laughing, and the elf found himself shaking as well as laughter consumed him.

Why were they laughing? He didn't know. He didn't even think she knew. Maybe it was because two adults –one of who was an elf! –were tussling like children. Maybe it was from relief that neither of them were injured. Glorfindel thought it was just one of those unexplainable moments when one suddenly can not _not_ laugh, just one of those times when there need not be a reason at all.

When had that feeling last come? Glorfindel couldn't tell. Decades ago, even hundreds of years. It was indescribable! He gloried in it, held tightly onto it unwilling to let it pass again. Now, he lived!

Finally, though, the last notes of laughter subsided into the forest quiet. The elf gazed down at the black eyes beneath him again with amusement. And for once, the eyes smiled back.


	11. Forged Friendships?

Another short little piece written when I had the time! Sorry again to keep you guys waiting! I'm too tired these days to write very long! And thank all of you who reviewed and so got my lazy butt to work!

ZombieGurl98: Thanks, as always, for your reviews. That's always a constant; I can always count on them: ).

Idhrennial: Oh, I don't like writing passionate love stories. They're so. . . common, these days. A good friendship is always so much rarer.

Bananadude: Yay! Love it when my stories are different!

Ven: Can I call you ven? Happy bubble for the whole day! Yay!

Nymph: Nope, Tera doesn't fall madly in love with an elf that falls madly in love with her and go riding off into the sunset. Heh. She'd probably kick his ass before too long.

So sorry again for the long wait and please review!

n 

n 

They broke camp just before dawn. Glorfindel was in the lead with his silver-grey stallion, with Tera and Quest for War content in the shadows behind. It was raining again. Streaks of lightning lit the forests and Tera gripped the reins and prayed that no tree before them would be hit.

"We are two days away," Glorfindel called, sparing a glance back at her.

"In this rain?" She questioned doubtfully as Reggie yanked his hoof out of sucking mud.

"Even so," came the absent reply, and Tera knew that he was brooding about his elf-friend.

There were orc tracks on the road. Tera spotted them with the ease of a trained stalker, and knew that Glorfindel had as well. They were stale enough, reason for wariness but not for worry. But they were reminders on how close danger lurked, even on a darkly lit morning such as this.

Reggie sniffed out the danger before the elf-horse, but they were both quick enough for it to hardly matter. Tera leaned close to her mount, realizing that it wasn't the tracks up in front that had raised the alarm. And then, with shock-

Pouring rain had rendered elven hearing helpless! Mist had covered sight from both of them! And even as the two horses swerved and veered away, she heard Glorfindel call out that it was an ambush.

Speed! That was her only chance of survival. She whirled Reggie around into the shadows beside the orcs, deftly unleashing a pair of throwing daggers at the dark figures. The blades flashed through the air before being encompassed by the mist, but Tera saw the figures crumple and knew that she'd hit her target.

But no time for triumph –some distance away, she heard a horse's war-shriek and the clash of steel on steel. Unsheathing her blades, she threaded her way to the back of the line, knowing that silence and the cover of her cloak would not fail her.

Was it without moral: attacking from behind? Maybe it was, but Tera cared not. She knew her strengths, and she knew her weaknesses. She was a thief, a rogue, not a warrior such as Glorfindel. And if there was a choice between life and honor, honor would be stupidity and life the only choice.

The first three or four were downed before realization of their attacker hit them. Tera knew the drill: kill hard, kill fast, and disappear before gathering too much notice. This was more than the usual patrol party. The orcs numbered in the twenties instead of tens. This was an ambush.

She _hated_ ambushes.

The fifth met her head on. He hadn't expected Reggie though, and the crow-faced stallion ended his life with slashing hooves. She could feel bloodlust rise inside him even before he screamed a war-cry of his own.

_Reggie!_

The sixth went down even as she searched for a way out. There were too many now! She would not fight head on unless she had no choice, and she felt her choices abandon her.

Fine, then.

Snarling, she heeled her horse and let him rear, let thrashing hooves descend on the grounded orc. She heard a spitted word, 'Yrch', and knew it to be Glorfindel. Tera started Reggie in that direction, letting blade and hoof and teeth clear the way even as she felt the battle-fever engulf her.

This was power! This was strength! She gave her heart to her blade and drove her raging horse on, more heedless to danger than she would have been otherwise until-

_Thwap_

A white feathered arrow downed an orc at her blind spot.

That was stupidity. She could have died because of her own stupidity.

Enough. There was still slaughter going on, and her concentration could not afford to suffer.

The orcs alive had died down the four or five; Tera gave not the time to count. Glorfindel fought like the warrior he was described to be, and his elven horse reared with power and purity even with the white of his flank streaked with orc-blood. She heeled Reggie to him even as her dark stallion took out another.

She'd have liked to say that it was her thief sense that spotted the archer, but honestly it was more by luck. It mattered not. She saw him, and she saw the cocked arrow.

The dagger flew from her hand with a speed and unconscious ease that fascinated. Even as Glorfindel swerved around, the orc was sinking slowly into the puddle of blood that was his own.

The rest were easy. None survived.

Tera swung off immediately to check on her horse who, battle-fever still surrounding him, pranced and jigged and refused to stand. Still, there was not more than a shallow cut to his flank, which she quickly cleaned and dressed.

The blade wound on her leg wasn't deep, but neither was it shallow. Dressed and bandaged, though, it didn't hurt quite as much as she'd expected it to. The elf, she noticed with no small disgust, had not a scratch on him, and not even a drop of blood to mar his golden hair.

He walked over to her.

"You saved my life," he conceded agreeably, "thank you."

Tera raised an eyebrow in response.

"Should I have just left you to die? I need a guide, elf."

Instead of snapping back, though, Glorfindel just smiled a little, evil smile.

"You can not deny it –you care," he said with a grin to Tera's scandalized face.

"Do not!"

"Yes, you do."

"No I don't!" Her jaw was dropped in outrage and shock.

"Lying is a sin, lady," his grin could outmatch a Cheshire's if he desired.

She stared, mouth agape, for a while as rain dripped down her hair and face.

Finally, though-

"Well, you owe me."

"You forget, I had saved your life before."

"You did not!"

"He was about to stab you, lady," he replied placidly.

"Reggie would have gotten him," she snapped back.

"Would he?"

"Yes he would!"

"I think not."

And so like this they mounted and rode on, tension dying together with the recent battle, a friendship as unpredictable as flame and ice forged to live or die as the pair wished. And it was friendship, was it not? And not an elf's way to keep an assassin from straying away from the job at hand.


	12. Death's Face

"Are humans usually so guarded about their names?"

They had broken camp in as hidden a place as they could find, but had still thought better than to light a fire. Tera sat towards the elf, lembas in hand, and the darkness gave hiding to her face.

"I'm a thief, Glorfindel."

"You called me Glorfindel," he said in jest, "Amazing."

"Shut up, elf," she said with a slight half-smile. She could think of worse company.

Worse company than an elf.

_Hah. Like mice, rats…cockroaches in the cellar…_

But in reality, she knew, she was beginning to think the elf as 'friend'. That, in itself, was as rare as anything. Oh, acquaintances she'd known, though never one to share a beer and a word. Lovers, she'd had also –though most merely for a night and none connected or remembered with any affection whatsoever. So this –this was new.

She prayed that she wouldn't come to treasure it.

Elven eyes had caught sight of her smile, and Glorfindel hid one of his own. He would freely admit to enjoying its appearance, but he knew that his observation would only banish any trace of friendliness.

"So you're a thief. That does not quite answer my question, less I have failed to decipher some hidden message."

"Not that I'm doubting your intelligence, Glorfindel, but you are asking a _thief_ for her name."

". . .Ahhh," He nodded as understanding dawned. He was an elf, and so unused to the doings of petty beings-

_Wait. Petty beings? Is that how my mind terms her? _Rewinding, he began to review his thoughts.

"_Have_ I been treating you with little but contempt?" He turned to Tera slowly, so deeply embedded in his thoughts that he failed to notice her shocked expression.

"I'm sorry?" This _was_ new.

"I apologize –I had not known. This. . . this was unintentional. The fact that I was patronizing you. . . It seems that stereotype is so deeply ingrained. . . even when one thinks oneself free it is not so."

The elf rambled, thoughts forming speech before the mind could filter them. It was a gift –these thoughts. A gift of complete honesty. She deserved at least that much.

"Glorfindel."

"No wait –I apologize for this insult. Truly. I hadn't known that I was. . . but that is no excuse. If you would forgive me-"

"Glorfindel. Stop, please," she reigned his words into a standstill before continuing, "You treated me like a beggar and I acted like the gutter whelp you pictured. The way I see it, we were both in the wrong."

"Yes, but…" He faltered over words.

"And if you now say that elves aren't supposed to make mistakes I will personally _hit_ you. I very seldom forgive, but when I do you had better accept it should I change my mind."

A slight half smile softened the brusqueness of her words, and Glorfindel chose to follow her advice. Instead he turned his attention to other matters, speaking softly as she sat, quietly listening, clothed in the bleak blackness of nightfall.

Later, as she stood her turn as guard, she stood silhouetted against the gleam of moonlit shafts of light, as little tendrils snaked through the shadowed leaves and fell hungrily towards the grass. The birds were silent, keeping watch with a darker forbearance that worried her, for their idle chatter was a constant in places of safety. Slowly, she motioned to Reggie to stay as she crept some ways towards the road. Perhaps there was something there: a spy, a scout.

Crawling through a tangled growth of underbrush, she heard, before seeing, the group of orcs. They seemed as if to be heading back to their fortress, and seemed as if wearied and grime darkened. From what? She sidled closer, feet and hands as stealthy as if on air, reverting to second nature with relief. Slowly, her eyes trailed through the troop of orcs, clothed in rusty iron, crusted blood sticking to their sheathed swords. They were unnaturally silent, as if they couldn't speak, rather than having nothing to say. An orc, especially grime-covered, dragged the body of an elf by his hair.

She finished scanning the group –there were no more than ten, eleven –before realization struck.

It was Farothdûr.

The elf she had met during Elrond's meeting –that was him. Her eyes widened a mere fraction before narrowing in concentration. A few seconds and she found that he was still breathing, albeit shallowly, and had blood soaking through the fabrics above his right shoulder and thigh. Another few and she'd crept back through the bushes to camp.

Glorfindel was awake and slightly alarmed, but calmed with relief when he saw that she had not simply disappeared. Quickly, she motioned for silence, snapping only as she threw tack on Reggie.

"Farothdûr," she said only, "unconscious. Captured. A dozen orcs half a mile away on the road."

She shot a glance to where the elf stood, shocked.

"Farther if you take your time."

Immediately, the saddle was shoved on his grey, the bridle fastened, the girth cinched. He looked grim, cold, focused, once again commander, humor gone.

"Lead," he ordered sharply, and she allowed this rudeness only because of the circumstances.

Pressing her stallion on at a quick, loping canter, quieter than a gallop and ground covering enough to serve their purpose, she headed towards the dirt road, hurriedly formulating a plan in her mind. She hoped Glorfindel did the same.

Eleven orcs, wearied or no, holding a captive precious to them, was bad under the best of circumstances. She slowed Reggie to the elf-mount's side and turned to Glorfindel.

"Our only advantage is surprise. Our horses make little sound –yours is elf-born, mine an assassin's. The orcs –they're tired, we're not –not really, anyway. Hopefully they'll take longer to register an attack, _if_ we are discreet."

" And how would you suggest that?" His voice was hard, not caustic, but close. The captive must have much worth to him.

"Arrows from trees, pick off the stragglers. They register, start to shout, you charge from the weakest point. I follow from the other side."

"You're the assassin," came the reply to her strategy, leaving her to narrow her eyes in annoyance.

"Yes, I am," she not –quite –snarled in response. There was no response.

They spotted the orcs through the lit torches that guided them, and Tera quickly wheeled her mount away from the road, to the left, as the elf reined his in the opposite direction. The undergrowth was thick, and her horse a shadow amongst it. She knocked an arrow and sighted the last of the orc, a few meters behind the group, favoring his right leg. She loosed the arrow as she drew another and immediately released it into the chest of another, as she saw a stark-white contrast to her black arrow fly into yet another orc, and heard the group respond in confusion, and then rage.

Another of her arrows found its target as Glorfindel charged, sword swinging death and war-cry dark and full of anger. Unsheathing her own blade, she signaled to Reggie and they leaped in as well on the other side, cleaving an orc's head from behind and neutralizing another before it registered to the orcs that their enemy attacked both ways.

And somewhere, in the middle of the fray, lay an injured, unconscious elf.

Glorfindel was skilled –there was no doubt about that, and an orc stood no chance against his steel, cutting, blade. His sword arm was streaked in blood, as was his war-horse, but the blood was not from them. Four of the eleven orcs had succumbed to the arrows, another two from Tera's surprise attack. Glorfindel sliced down three more in quick succession, sword whistling through dark air, rusty iron useless before deadly steel. Another one went down to Tera's sword, and in a split-second, the other knew that he would die as well.

The other ran his blade through Farothdûr's back.

He was dead in an instant.

Blood rose and dripped from the dead elf's mouth even as both Glorfindel and Tera slashed through the orc simultaneously. A few more moments and no more breath shuddered through his chest.

He was dead. They had failed.

Glorfindel dismounted and knelt by his side until it was clear that he had gone. He stood still, silent, expression emotionless but emotion rampaging underneath.

Then he turned, an remounted, and rode silently away.

Tera hesitated a moment, and then followed.


	13. Into the Woods

I know. This update was very long on coming. I had only set myself in front of the key board a few days ago, in fact. Now that I have finished the chapter, however, I am at a loss. You see, I could make a thousand excuses, a thousand lies as to which I have not written until now: that my grandmother died and I was struck with depression, or that I was stranded in a deserted island after my private jet crashed down. I thought of many, many reasons that were not –quite—lies as well. But enough. I decided (or rather I decide) in favor of the most difficult reason of all: the truth.

The truth is that I fell into the most common trap known to writers. I started with a love for this story—my story. I loved Tera, loved her imperfection, loved the possibilities surrounding her. I loved her horse, loved her life, and I wrote for the love of writing. At the start of this journey, my story was pure.

But somehow, along the way, something changed. Pleasure at receiving a review turned into the need for a review, a kind of greedy want that sullied the whole purpose of this piece. It turned corrupt, and I began to turn into the largest disgust of all. I began writing for my own ego.

I began second-guessing myself, second-guessing my characters, my story, my writing. I nearly fell into the traps of the mainstream. Twice now have Tera and Glrofindel almost fallen victim to the commonplace Nora Jones syndrome. I do not know who to thank that it did not. Nevertheless, my love for this story died somewhere along the way. I would find myself staring at a half-written page, simply not wanting to write. Then one day I did not write. I stopped. I forgot about it.

But just the other day, on a rare bout of free time, I (out of curiosity) logged onto my account at this site. I was thinking to give it a cursory glance, to see what I had done. Instead, I found myself reading this story. And I fell in love again. I found that I had missed it. I do not know what comes next in the story, any more than you do. When I write, I simply sit down in front of the computer and let my fingers weave through keyboard, and then the story flows. When I stop typing, the story stops, and I do promise you, I know not what happens next. And now I think I want to.

And then I started reading the reviews. It is rare for me to feel quite so chastised as I felt when I read them. I realized, then, the extent of my ingratitude. Was this what had driven my ego? To the readers of this story, who loved it just as much as I do, I would like to apologize. If you are still there (though after two years it is hard to be), I would like very much to apologize.

But enough. I have kept you too long now, and shall only give a final word. I come before you now an older, and perhaps wiser, individual, and I promise you this: even though I cannot promise the speed of my updates (what with my eleven hour work day), I can promise you that this story will be finished. I can promise you that I will write for the pure love of this story, and allow it the uncompromising originality it deserves. And it will be finished.

I apologize again to everyone who has waited, and everyone who has given up waiting. And I thank you all,

Sultar

Chapter 13

They rode in silence until the sun filtered through gaps in the canopy of trees. The tension was palatable; it hung smoky through the very crevices of air and silent mist enshrouding the two riders as they ventured through the dark corners of polluted wood. Signs of abuse had started to show: trees, oaks as wide as Tera was tall, mutilated into stumps, one here, one there, one not quite dead but marked with the slash of a heavy blade. Though Tera was not one to care overmuch about the livelihoods of plants and the like, she felt immediately the wrongness of the destruction, tasted the acrid scent of corruption slithering its dark tentacles to mar the beauty of Rivendell. Mayhaps it be only the outskirts of the wood, but its exploitation still filled the common man with disgust and unease, a certain violence of emotion that is termed so simply as despair.

If Glorfindel noticed, he showed nothing. He had ridden as if set in marble and stone, unmoving and silent. Seeing him so only increased the unspoken guilt that had tormented Tera now for hours.

"Glorfindel?" She finally spoke, "I'm sorry, I—"

"You did nothing wrong. The plan was sound. The execution was faultless. It is hardly your fault." But the way his eyes grew more even more distant betrayed him.

Tera knew what he was thinking: _What if, what if, what if…_

_I could fill the world then half again with every "What If" that I hold._

"Then I am sorry for your loss. For his life."

"It is difficult for a mortal to understand," the elf bit out, control lost in the quiet outburst.

"A life is a life, Glorfindel," she argued, stung, "no matter how short or long it may be."

"And in that way you do not understand. Humans, dwarves, halflings, all mortals are born with no escape from death. You are born knowing you will die. The way you live is determined with the knowledge that you will die. You accept it because you must, because no matter what may come, you will fall as the aspen leaf, turn green to gold to brown and crumpled and withered. And then death. You must understand, it is not so with the elves.

"They could have lived an eternity in peace. They should have left," he whispered hoarsely, more to himself than the listening thief, "the fools, they should have left."

"And what makes you stay, then?" Tera ignored (for the moment) the undermining tone of the elf, "Why should you not go?"

"I stay," he replied harshly, "to avenge those who should have gone."

Tera closed her eyes in a brief interlude of enlightenment. Now she could see, sense, the bitterness that surrounded the elf, the tautness of emotion dampened down by layer upon layer of control. The sudden outbursts of intense rage. How much pain had he held? How much pain did he hold? His grief, she realized, had become him.

"I hear what you do not say," she said softly, "what you mean between the lines you speak. You choose death."

"Then you hear wrongly, human. I choose life; therefore, I am living."

"There is nothing wrong with my hearing, nor my interpretation, elf," she snapped suddenly, "you live, yes, but you do not live for the sake of living. You do not live because you would have your life. You live because you would deal out death.

"From what I see, there is no escape for you, either. You will die after this death. It matters little if you sail or no. If you live for death, you will die after it is gone. It is a bitter thing, a relentless thing, this darkness you hold. You would do well to fight it."

"Imagine, all this from the mouth of a mortal," Glorfindel smirked caustically, flaying out in hopes of snaring the more familiar, less dangerous anger of the other, "why should an elf follow such untried wisdom?"

Tera clenched her teeth to hold her temper.

"You only live to deal out death," she snarled softly, "tell me, what does that make you, elf?"

The was silence for a moment, as the cold blue of the ellon's gaze finally shifted to meet hers with icy clarity.

"I have not yet thought of the answer. But since you have had the time, tell me: what does it make you?"

—page break—page break—page break

It was several hours later before Glorfindel broke the tension with his peace offering.

Of food.

Tera received the piece of lembas with silent gratitude, focusing on the process of chew and swallow to stave off the bitterness of their surroundings. Indeed, the wood had grown darker, and they had come upon recent tracks or orc some time ago. The feeling of growing unease in the forest that could only be described as a stench had grown as well.

"I would apologize, lady," he started softly, for now they both knew to be quiet and wary, "That was uncalled for."

"Yes, it was," she agreed heartily, munching on lembas bread with as much content as this dratted place would likely give her. Glorfindel threw her a scathing glance that mixed somewhat with relief and amusement.

"And that it has given you cause for such brooding," he went on smoothly, waiting for the desired effect.

"I was not brooding!" Tera hissed quietly despite herself, "and who are you to say that to me, anyway? I was the one pai-tent-ly keeping watch on a-l-l our surroundings while _you_, the great, glorious warrior elf sat there moping around."

"I fear you are quite mistaken, lady," Glorfindel replied coolly, "elves do not mope."

"Oh but of course they mope," she mocked in a light hearted, singsong voice, "they mope all the time, about how their world is contaminated by mortal filth, about how their trees are lonely, about how their wonderful platinum blond hair isn't caught by the autumn sun just _so--_"

"About how they find themselves trapped in the company of ruthlessly annoying thieves," the elf muttered, cutting in.

"And that," Tera chirped agreeably, "but they do mope."

In truth, her good humor was not only to disgruntle the ellon. Tera was also vastly relieved to find that the elf had recovered his control enough to converse with her. She had had her doubts, both on him and on her ability to keep them both alive if he had succumbed to grief.

"A deer swept through the forest eighty paces back. We came across a half dozen rabbits two miles back. Just before we had disturbed a squirrel and acquired its ineffective wrath. Was your watch as productive, now, lady?"

"I said I had kept watch to be aware of any enemy, elf, not to start a nature diary," Tera replied lazily.

"Ignorance," Glorfindel sighed, though he could not—quite—swallow the faintest trace of a smile.

Tera shot him a half-hearted glare before returning her gaze to her surroundings. As they rode deeper into the heart of the corruption, both riders knew that they would be hard-pressed to spot the orc sentries and be rid of them before any alarm was sounded.

As it was, they did not need to wait for long.

It was Glorfindel who spotted the first one (not so much by the sound of his footsteps as the stink of filth and darkness gathered to one solid object, he'd explained to a bemused Tera). He had fitted an arrow into the side of its head before Tera even noticed he had moved. She glared at him, startled; he'd only smirked his victory. There was not a lot she could do about it, however: his elvish sight, hearing, and apparent darkness sensing module downed orc before she even guessed that they were there. Annoyed, she quietly sulked as Reggie fell back to follow the elven stallion.

_If it were night,_ she consoled herself, _I would have found them first. Damned elf._

Finally, he motioned them to halt behind the cover of dark green bushes, as tall as a young tree and shielded from light.

"Here we must leave the horses," he said, albeit a little hesitantly. He avoided her gaze.

"What? No." Was the automatic response.

"Lady, please," Glorfindel said softly, "the entrance to the cave is not far from here. Silent though the horses may be, it will be difficult to hide them from the enemy from here on. They will stay here until we return."

He did not have to mention that the horses would be safer here than anywhere else. Tera glared harshly, trying to ignore the sense in his plan. Her occupation, however, overrode mere emotion. She knew as well as he the soundness of his suggestion. And a newer, less welcome part of her realized as well that if she argued, it would only be for argument's sake. Sullenly, she nodded her agreement, not entirely missing Glorfindel murmuring praise to the Valar at her consent.

_If I call him, Reggie will come. Wherever I am. I know it._ In truth, she had her doubts on whether her voice would carry once they'd entered the orcen stronghold. Nothing held sound like solid stone and darkness, she knew. She shivered, biting her lip against the foreshadow of danger, and dismounted slowly. The black stallion seemed to understand, neck tense and coiled with wariness when she stroked him reassuringly in farewell.

Through it all, Glorfindel was silent, averting his eyes to keep a careful watch. Tera noticed the change in his eyes the moment she had turned from her horse. They were cold now, and glinting. She recalled her words: _You choose death._ For a moment she thought of turning back.

She didn't, however. Her pride was strong. She had a job to carry out.

Tera nodded silently again, letting concentration chill her gaze as well. Enough. There was no more room for thought.

They were going in.


	14. A Thief's Choice

I apologize once again for the length of time before this update. I was in Italy for four weeks competing and left my laptop behind (due to the horrible weight restrictions in Ryan Air). I'm afraid that my competition schedule is again packed after this short break, with two weeks in Malaysia, another two weeks in Thailand, another week here, another week there. However, I will update as soon as possible. Thank you for your patience, all of you.

Sultar

Chapter 14

A Thief's Choice

It was dark.

That was Tera's first thought as they had entered the cave, crawling up the mounds of stone to slip in above the heads of orcish sentries. It was dark, and damp, and chillingly cold.

One did not have to be an elf to detest it with growing passion.

That had been about two hours ago. Now, as they negotiated with growing trepidation the seemingly endless crevices of stone, Tera began to worry about never finding the way to the heart of the cave.

It was not so much that the cave was particularly complicated. In fact, the route ahead of them was as straightforward as one could have wished. Rather, it was the darkening of stone the deeper they ventured, the narrowing of passageway until at places orc could not be avoided any longer. And with every orc that was killed (though hidden discretely), both knew that the risk for alarm being sounded grew alarmingly. _If they did not find the leader Sarn, and quickly—_

That was a dark thought, and one Tera refused to engage in. Yet. Still, as they crept with tense shoulders and silent, glancing nods, Tera began to curse the snails pace they had to endure, the silent waiting as a passing orc strode through the cavern. The patience and nerve needed for stalking and assassinating a fellow man was nothing, _nothing_, compared to this. They were perched on a razor-edged blade of ice-smooth obsidian, and the pressure hung thick and choking in the misting moisture of dark, damp air.

Quietly, she laid a hand on Glorfindel's shoulder. The elf could only partially hide a jump, and responded with a venom-laced glare.

'What?' He mouthed, breaking the gaze to cast a wary glance at their surroundings.

'Has anyone explored this cave before?' _Are you sure we're not going the wrong way_, was what she decided not to ask.

'None still alive,' came the response, before the elf turned away and started forwards again.

_Ah. Well that's nice._ With an imperceptible sigh, she followed suit.

Truth be told, she was beginning to regret having ever started the journey to Rivendell. The dark chilling surface of stone against her palm seemed to taunt her, eroding her certainty in their ability to succeed. It may have been the dark, or the humid coldness, but Tera could swear that there was something in this cave; something which didn't want them in. She spared a glance backwards but neither saw nor felt any sign of being followed. It was simply an aura she did not like, as if the very air disgusted in their presence.

It was not long before they encountered a fork in their path, one smoothly paved into utter black nothingness, the other rocky and treacherous before them. The clichéd dilemma echoed in Tera's mind like deja-vu, and maniacal laughter bubbled in the already frazzled recesses of her brain. The idea of being trapped in this hole, this darkness, terrified the part of her not schooled into impassiveness.

_And be one traveler long I stood, and looked down one as far as I could, to where it bent in the undergrowth…_

_…enough, enough, enough. _

She caught Glorfindel's eye and he fell back to start a whispered discussion.

"The path unkempt has the tellings of a thousand-more footsteps, both heavy and weak of stride. The other has few signs of passing. That is the one I would suggest we take," the elf murmured softly.

"And I suppose orc have never heard laying down traps?" Tera questioned to a dismissive shrug from the elf.

"Orc are orc, and nothing more," he replied as he started for the path.

_And nothing more,_ Tera snorted inwardly, a sense of foreboding strong in her mind as she consented to follow the elf.

The path was endless, but that was nothing new. It went not so much deeper into the underground, however, and at times Tera could have sworn she felt something of life beyond the stone layers around her. It was apparent that Glorfindel felt the same, for the palpable tension surrounding him eased palpable tension surrounding him eased by millimeters.

_Mayhaps the darkness is abating…_But she guarded herself against any loss of wariness. That was a fatal mistake, she knew, and one that perhaps could never be remedied. Anyway, if their guess was correct, and this was the way to Sarn, then there would be danger a-plenty to find lurking about.

Her thought soon seemed accurate, as both elf and human heard the first signs of orc on the pathway. Tera slowed further, body bent uncomfortably in a half-crouch, fingertips light against stony ground as she sheltered herself under the cover of large, broken crevices. She heard footsteps, smelled the stench of filth ever more clearly now that they were no longer amidst the free-flowing wind of the forest. Here, in the depths of stone where the air lay still and stagnant, the stink of the creatures seemed to grow and mutate to a magnitude unimaginable. A single orc could be sensed by a common man a quarter mile away. The greater problem then, however, was to bear the reeking smell long enough to kill him. Not too many men would have that fortitude, and for once Tera welcomed the fact that when she was a much younger child (and much worse thief), she very often needed access to the lower city sewers. How the elf coped, she could not imagine.

As they drew nearer, she began to separate footstep from footstep. The orc were numerous, it appeared. One, heavy of step and infrequent of movement, seemed to be poised in the middle. However, she could not ask Glorfindel for the elf ("_oh great, mighty elf"_) had very wisely chosen to slink along the shadows of the opposite wall. Of course, both of them were too distracted on their find of orc to notice that the tunnel had stretched in width to be able to mass an army of twenty-five abreast, rather than the mere dozen that the path before could hold. Tera cursed silently to herself before refocusing again of the enemy. What was done was done. The plan would be more awkward, yes, but feasible all the same.

She counted six pacing footsteps around the central figure, all pacing slightly and varying in step and therefore in size. Six. Six should be easy. She tried to catch Glorfindel's eye and curse silently again when she found that she was at the moment in the farther-most region of his mind. His whole concentration, it seemed, was currently fixed on their new encounter. Which meant that according to his elf senses…

…This was it.

As they drew as near as their need for stealth allowed, Tera slowly raised herself so that her eyes could peer over rock and crevice towards the party of orc. The cave was dark, and her cloak or midnight black, and she did not fear the top of her head being seen by any of the creatures. As her eyes took in the scene in front of her, her hand reached instinctively for the blade at her side.

_Yes, this may be it._

The six orc guards were heavily armored, with great, ugly, badly molded iron that stank of rust. The quality of the metal, however, seemed to be good. They paced somewhat mechanically, each taking exactly the same number of steps to the side, then stopping and turning, and continuing back. Abnormal, Tera decided, and more than simple fear or discipline.

The orc in the middle, however, was the one that she should be concentrating on, and she quickly shifted her focus on him. The creature was burly, great and hulking, reeking of decades of uncleansed dirt. He was a prominent feature amongst the other orc, greater both in size and in presence. And, hanging in gaudy pride between both his shoulder blades, Tera saw a dark red jewel.

_Then this must be Sarn_.

In the corner of her eye, she saw Glorfindel readying himself to leap out, blade swift and body swifter in search of death, of vengeance and whatever else he fought for. Tera was quite prepared to follow suit when some subconscious part of her mind gave pause.

_This was too easy. _

_Glorfindel said earlier that orc were orc._

_But do you believe him?_

_Might it be a mistake?_

_If you make a mistake, it will not be one you will live through._

_Come—keep your nerve, look through it once more… what do you see?_

_There is an elf, torn by grief, but that is not the point. Six guards pace as if hypnotized, five steps left, turn on left foot five steps right. They are probably experienced but that does not matter. The cavern is large and built to our advantage._

_Built to our advantage?_

_Look again—What do you see? What do you know, what do you see?_

_I know that orc are not all as prejudice see them. If this one can dabble in mind-control, then he would be cunning, literate in his own language and more probably in others. He would be ruthless, but not unnecessarily bloodless. He would have eyes that are cold and contemplative, forever contemplating, and…_

…_This orc has eyes that are dazed. _

Then she saw it.

It was a trap.

She turned fully and saw the elf poised a splint-second before flight. Saw that it was too late to give a warning and saw the bloody scene playing itself out in her head.

_Shit!_

Before her mind could register movement or really any conscious thought, she found herself soaring in one long movement over the rubble that she had hid behind.

_Idiot!! Idiot girl, what have you done? _

But it was too late now, and the orc had seen. In a split-second she made the only choice she had left to make.

"Stop!" she commanded, eyes aimed at the orc but voice aimed at the elf behind her. It worked, she knew, for she felt the sudden stilling of moving power (kinesthetic movement, her mind added in hysterical clarity) and the confused blank where it once was. She propelled herself past a bodyguard, slashing his neck in the slit between helmet and body armor without a pause in motion, before flipping a left-handed throwing knife directly at the blood-red jewel.

It shattered the pendant (_"Nothing but glass")_ and the thin links of chainmail to imbed itself in the orc's heart.

Breathless with a fool's hope, Tera waited for an effect.

Instead, she heard maniacal laughter and the coming a at least two dozen more orc, before one of the bodyguards from before took advantage of her distraction to send her into oblivion.


	15. The Face of Death

Yes, I do realize that it has taken quite some time to update. However, I was in a competition overseas for a month and a half… and forgot my laptop charger. Although—even if I'd remembered it, there wouldn't have been any internet anyway.

By the way I have posted up another story, an intentional, experimental Mary Sue and Tenth Walker to go away from my usual original, original characters. Do read it. Please, don't laugh.

And so…Enjoy.

…

Tera awoke to a dull throbbing of her head. She was by profession a thief—therefore, though there was indeed a pause before recollection came flooding back, it was a pause of mere split-seconds, so as to impart no consequence. Immediately grasping the precariousness of the situation, she resolved quickly to utter no intake of breath other than that which would resemble sleep, or unconsciousness.

Upon a slow upward examination of her body, Tera found a myriad of bruising and pain but (thankfully) no broken bones. The only, and very slight, worry was that of her head, which never ceased throbbing and spoke of possible concussion, which led to the worry that dizziness would cloud the sharpness of her mind. That, of course, could be fatal.

_Stupid, stupid girl. The one time you decide to play noble and heroic. Why the hell did you jump in!_

In truth, she didn't know.

_Come, enough of that. Get out of here alive first, which is no doubt what that bloody elf has done. Ah Gods, what have you done now._

Resolve to escape soon grew stronger than disgust at her stupidity, and Tera concentrated on familiarizing herself with her environment whilst giving no sign of wakefulness.

She found herself held in a kneeling position, but with her head bent unnaturally forwards and her wrists held at eye-length on either side. It seemed to be wood that was holding her in such a way, for the ground was cold with stone and that which held her was both solid and more warming to the touch. Carefully, she moved a hand to discover the length of freedom she had. The wrist came round in a circle, very small, with barely any room. Tera risked peering out through her eyelashes. Already realization had begun to surface, and the beginnings of a chill, hard terror threatened to overcome.

Granite met her stilted gaze, grey and threatening in its absence of information. She slowly moved her eyes forwards, tilting her head slightly. And froze.

It was tribute to the mindfulness of the orc, then, which Glorfindel had derided, but soon roared into view when the object of sadistic fear was at stake. For directly in front of their prisoner they had placed a carefully balanced mirror, of murk and filth, but no less effectively capturing for her eyes the area from the very nape of her neck, to, barely half a meter higher, the glint of new blade suspended above.

A guillotine.

For a long moment breath escaped Tera, escaped through the narrow, caustic dryness that contracted her throat, constricted her heart, contorted her mind. The guillotine. One can prepared for days, weeks, many months for such a moment of execution, may never find the courage or means to still the fear for dignity on that one, fateful day. And here Tera, who had avoided arrest for all her life, was left with no way of preparation, her sight transfixed upon the glint of blade balanced above her neck, and the knowledge that at any moment, at any whim…

"So you have seen our little execution device, little spy," it was a cultured manner of word spoke, that had little in common with the roughness of voice that fathered it.

Perceiving the uselessness of denial, Tera slowly raised her head, eyes concentrated on the speaker, mind concentrating on portraying an indifferent calm.

"It is, as of now, still unused, that guillotine, little spy," he continued, "as of now, of course."

He was large, even for an orc, though less bulky than most. His eyes glowed slightly yellow, slightly orange, stirred with a murky brown so that they appeared subtle in their evil. Yet the sadism of the orc still gleamed enough to send a chilling shudder through his prisoner, even more so than the blood-red pendant that declared him as Sarn, who she was sent to destroy. There was only one other orc in the cavern, shorter in size, and his eyes showed only ill-concealed anticipation.

_The executioner, no doubt._ And Tera felt fear waver her pride.

"Now, human, we (no doubt meaning his orc and he) were in a bit of a dilemma, and thought perhaps that you could aid us. You see, my orcs insist to me that you come alone, in which case it is really a simple matter of quick execution, which I really quite look forward to. However, I am under the suspicion that there may yet be more of you, or that there may be more coming, and then killing you now may be a little premature. So I offer you this choice:

If you have a companion, speak quickly, and tell me where you last saw him, and we may be able to make use of you. If you do not have anyone, well that is most unfortunate."

Tera immediately saw her opportunity spread out before her. If they kept her prisoner, merely, she would find a way to escape. It would be easy; she was a thief, after all. She could yet survive. And Glorfindel…

_He has already gone._

Hadn't he? She knew that she had only a split second to make a decision, before her word could be thought of as lies. She had her life in her hands. Her honor—

_It was honor that landed you here._

And pride?

Tera raised her eyes to meet the orc's, and lied.

"I come alone, orc."

Sarn paused, as if in doubt, or maybe simply out of surprise. And then—

"Very well. You will die."

He gave a sign to the other orc, and without a word the latter started to cross the fifty-some meters to the guillotine. Tera could feel even pride, then, slipping away, and though she tried to force her gaze from the mirror, it kept straying to the sight of the blade, just poised, only waiting…

Then, as the orc neared with a satanic sneer, only a few paces away, the sound of sword drawing from sheath caused all three of them to pause. Golden hair peered from the edge of the entrance, almost exactly between the executioner and the orc leader.

Glorfindel.


	16. Choice

A new chapter to start a new year. Although, to be honest, it should actually be a new story that starts a new year. A chapter seems rather… meager. Well, nevertheless, hear it is: read, enjoy, and happy new year!

Sultar

………

For a moment Tera forgot to breath, could hardly move in shock. The elf drew breath harshly as if from exhaustion, though his blade was unmarred by blood and his stance spoke of no wound. He spared a quick glance at her before turning to Sarn. The orc was almost frozen in shock and mounting rage. The pendant pulsed darkly on his throat.

"So orc, we meet," growled the elf in a sinisterly rasping tone that spoke of pent-up hate, "with now your army too far to help."

Surprisingly, the orc was able to recollect himself with prideful ease. His own eyes glowed harsher in anger, but his voice was steady and resolved.

"Master elf," he drawled, voice rough and hoarse, "at last you visit the homely confines of my cavern. The first elf here—the first _live_ elf, that is."

The bloodless grasp of hand on sword trembled slightly in rage as Glorfindel no doubt remembered the elves that had been lost. So many elves. Too many. And now? Now, he may yet have his vengeance.

"Yes, vengeance," the orc laughed heartlessly, reading the hate spun into the elf's visage with the clearness of a manipulator, "finally, you can have your vengeance. There is only one slight problem."

The pounding of Tera's heart grew to throb against her ears, a dull _thudud, thudud, thudud_ that echoed through the chamber.

"You see, you are only a short distance from me, but my orc, over there? He is but a few steps from your human. So, shall I rephrase: kill me and she dies. Kill him and she has yet to live. Unless, of course, your lust for vengeance is strong enough to have the blood of a girl on your hands."

Stunned into stillness, Glorfindel cast another glance at her. She remembered, clearly, his words before. _I stay to avenge those who should have gone._

_You choose death._

But at once she saw with clarity the situation. If the elf let Sarn escape it would mean death for them both, and a failed mission. The only one way out of the situation was with her own death. The drumming grew louder, pounding with her heart, against her ears, no longer simply in her mind. _The orc troop? _It sounded too fast but she could not think. Her death was looming. She could barely breathe.

Glorfindel, too, caught his breath, eyes darkening to a stormy color while he tried to stall for time. Sarn, though, was either more clever or more cunning than that.

With one, mocking glance, he motioned to the executioner.

"Kill her."

The elf sprang into motion even before the words were uttered, with a hissed swear too poetic to be of any common tongue. He leaped—towards her.

"_Idiot!_" She screamed even as she felt tears of frustrated, helpless, bitter rage slap at the back of her eyes. _Now we will both die._ Even as her executioner fell to his knees in his own blood, she heard Sarn laugh manically as he lunged for the exit, as the drumming grew louder and louder and Glorfindel struggled harshly with the lock that held the guillotine in place.

Then two things chanced to happen.

First was the shatter of rusted iron shorn in two, as Glorfindel swept his blade across it and swung the top part of the guillotine away. Tera started upwards only to realize that her feet were chained as well and swore fiercely, as the drumming of footsteps reached a climax.

And that was the second thing.

There was a sudden pause in sound as a blur of motion darkened the entrance of the cavern, before the sound of heavy iron on stone sounded as the horse completed his leap.

_Reggie_.

The noise behind was no doubt the troop of orc racing for entry, and the stallion had obviously just gone through them. Blood stained the roughness of his coat and the fine leather of the saddle even as he glared, maddened, at the three live figures (and one dead) lining the room. They flared as they reached Sarn, and Glorfindel whispered simply into Tera's ear.

"I forgot to tell you—I called in reinforcements."

His bloodlust was barely compressed as Reggie battered against the surprised orc with the full force of his flight. Glorfindel started up to lend his aid, but the stallion needed no obvious help, hooves battering on the grounded orc with his haunches pulled forwards in mid-rear. With a wordless roar, Sarn flailed out with a fist, catching one foreleg and causing the other to come down for balance, full force on the orc's upper chest.

Directly onto the pendant.

With a crashing sound as the steel of his shoes struck the darkened red of the charm, the stone cracked neatly into two over the iron of Sarn's armor. The orc howled again in pain and desperation as the horse smashed his hooves onto the harsh, protruding cranium of his skull.

In an instant, he was dead.

Tera exhaled sharply in disbelief even as Glorfindel yanked the chains free from her feet. She stumbled to her feet unsteadily, feeling concussion compound her senses but ready for the troop of orc to enter.

There was a hiccup in the sound of steady marching, before the first of the orc entered the cavern.

He stopped, paused, and seemed to stumble to the ground. A moment later he was dead.

As the rest of the troop littered itself on the floor, Tera sank again her the greater security of her knees, Glorfindel grabbing her arm and slowing her fall.

"Their spirits," he deducted, "were trapped in that—thing. They were never truly alive to begin with."

Relief mingled with concussion and the time spent locked in emotional and physical distress, and Tera felt the tears that had surfaced slide embarrassingly to trace the side of one cheek.

"_Why?_" she whispered, perplexed. _Why did you come back? Why __**e**__verything?_

Glorfindel crouched just behind her, supporting the tremble of unspent suspense in her knees with an arm holding her to his chest. He lowered his head until his lips leveled with her ear.

"I chose life."


	17. Chapter 17

Story is finished. Yay. Talk about procrastination, but at least it's done. So enjoy!

Scaling up the redwood tree after dragging Reggie back from his open field (the poor thing was struggling to put back the weight he had lost), Tera noticed a knot amidst the fastidiously combed vinyl 'mess' covering a—_her—_open window. _Leave it today, pay for it tomorrow. _She took a moment to untangle the vines before launching herself through the sill into the room. And yes, her room. Her own room, her own furniture, her own little place; she had forgotten the simple joy of living alone.

It was smooth sailing after the orc was killed. The usual, ornately elven welcome procession, which she failed to appreciate whatsoever, being at that moment slung across Glorfindel's accursed white stallion like a pair of saddlebags: _"You cannot ride injured" "The way your bloody donkey's going, I'm going to die from internal organ failure before my miracle human healers can save me" "This is an elven horse, his strides are smoother than fresh-river water"_. Elrond was remarkably glad to acquiesce to her demand for a speedy exit—fresh clothes, good food, a half-kilo of oats, and she was finally relieved of any pointy-eared company, which was a good thing—_is _a good thing. As long as she kept reminding herself of that.

She left the night they returned, and was gone before Glorfindel had realized. Perhaps that was Elrond's goal. The constant, bickering hostility surrounding the two had somehow turned into a constant, bickering, half-heartedly amiable closeness—the kind of closeness two individuals share when they face fear back to back. Perhaps that was something to fear in itself. It hardly mattered anymore, anyway.

And now here she was, in a brand new town—a half-day's ride from Bree, in a rich man's province, a little house secluded far to the east with more vines engulfing it than red bricks forming its walls. New home, new life. _New down payment, though that's hardly a bother_.

Not anymore at least. Elrond had offered to pay her well, and that he did—more, to be sure, simply because she was so quick to leave. No matter: leaving quickly had been her choice, and one she would have made with or without the promise of extra gold. Another reason to escape flowed like liquid fire across the dark-wood gleam of her bedside table.

Rubies, miniscule multitudes of them entrapped by greenling tombs of crystal and swathed by elusively dancing diamond stars, orbiting a halo around and through in a constant motion of light-reflecting dazzle. The figure had originally been mounted on a similarly beautiful piece created from glasswork bent and twisted into a hauntingly gnarly form. She had fallen in love with both; it was only the upper, smaller piece, however, that she could afford to smuggle out unnoticed. Which was a pity, really—by itself, it was a wonder that the human eye could barely hope to encounter. United with its partner, however, it was a wonder that the human soul could barely begin to comprehend, let alone describe—so fond of blundering through endless categorizations that cannot even begin to match the miniscule interpretations of a single commonplace (individually unique and uncommon) essence, how could one even attempt to shatter the wonder of such a creation through an entirety of description? No, the piece was not to be described through art or poetry.

_Rather, it's to be stolen, secreted away in isolation. _

Like every truly beautiful thing. Like every truly fantastical experience, or every truly experienced emotion. Which led, as always, back to that damned elf. Or not. Not admittedly, rather—

Or at least not until she nearly collided mid-swing with a strikingly familiar, golden-haired figure.

Who was waiting there. In her room.

"But what on Earth is it with you and breaking into my home."

"I can hardly comprehend your surprise—I rather thought you'd be expecting me." Poker face. Almost imperceptible smirk. That wasn't simply imperceptible solely for the pleasure of her irritation. _Of all the damnable elves, I just had to pick this one. No, not pick—I was lumped together with him from the start. _She sighed audibly and obviously, just to make clear the state of matters.

"What do you want, elf."

"To talk. Do you have tea?"

"Brewery down the street. Restaurant to the left. Door's that way."

Glorfindel stared at her oddly, and in less jest than she would have liked.

"Weren't we friends before we parted, at the very end?" _Before you disappeared_, rather; that was the unspoken but densely questioning cloud of—_what? Hurt?—_that echoed through the sentiment.

Which was exactly what Tera had wanted to avoid: emotional sentiment. Hurt, wonder, hope, anger, amazement—she didn't need those things; she needed calm. She needed to think. She needed to get out of all this.

_Like the knot against my window sill. Tangled one day, trapped the next._

"We were trying to survive, Glorfindel," she said, suddenly very, very tired, "I don't—can't afford—to have friends. Why don't you just leave, I'm—I don't want to think about this right now."

"I have a knife. I can cut things moderately well. Could I be an expedient friend? I could be expedient, I'll practice. Come, see? I brought you an offering. Peace offering, if you will, like they made to the great, legendary lords who sniffed at lesser folk all day long, and ate and slept of course, and stank. You're a bit on the small side, of course—could be a dwarf lord. Tea? You left this behind."

He motioned behind him, where familiarly entwining shades of colour battled upwards in crystalline form. Its stolen partner lay on the table still. Suddenly she didn't know what to do.

"Does—did Elrond know?" There was absolutely _no_ way...

"I won't tell if you don't." There was that smirk again, a laughing glint that found an unwilling partner as Tera shook her head in disbelief.

"He'll kill you, you damn elf!"

"Hang us, you mean. The both of us. Quick, we need to hide! Is it safe here?"

Laughing didn't come naturally, not to the two. They were too old—in experience, in soul—to ever find humour so easily again. But they were young, as well, all of a sudden; at least for a little while, as they found common laughter in their shared crime, in their shared joke.

"So I guess you'll be visiting then?"

"To check if you finally managed something so spectacular that you've ended up dead? Of course." He was still smiling. Then again, so was she.

"I'll check up on your horse on the way out, then," Glorfindel said as he turned to make his way—finally—out of the door, "I remember hearing him on my way here." No noise on the carpeted floor. _Got to change that carpet. Damned if I don't learn to hear his footsteps._

"He won't be glad to see you," she called as he went through the motions of leaving, "and Glorfindel?"

The elf turned to the question with a ghost of the former laugh in his eyes.

"My name's Tera."


End file.
